


Banshee

by pugoata



Series: Banshee [1]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Fantasy, Angst, Bumbleby - Freeform, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Pining, Romance, Soulmates, just let me write soft stuff again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:01:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 98,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23571262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pugoata/pseuds/pugoata
Summary: AU: Blake Belladonna was bad luck. At least, this was Adam’s excuse when their crops began to fail. She was a curse, he liked to say. She began to dread each moment spent alone with him, and how quickly his eyes would flash with anger. Blake wasn’t a superstitious woman, but after a while, it was hard not to feel like shewascursed. Maybe he had a point.But curses weren’t the only superstition in their village. One night, Blake heard a sweet song echoing through the valley. Blake had never heard of a banshee before, but she couldn’t believe that such a beautiful song could be an omen of death. There had to be more to it than that. So it was refreshing, to meet someone who agreed with her.“You know,” Yang remarked, tilting her head thoughtfully. “You almost make me want to sing.”
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Series: Banshee [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1969009
Comments: 1182
Kudos: 1424





	1. Chapter 1

It sounded like a lullaby.

When Blake’s eyelids fluttered open, she expected the song to disappear like a dream. It took her another few seconds to realize it was real, and her ears twitched at the sound. This wasn’t the wind whistling through the trees, or the howling of a distant wolf. This was a real song.

A beautiful one.

She slipped out from under the blankets, rising carefully so as not to disturb the man who slept beside her. The room was cold, and her bare feet were freezing, but it didn’t stop her from striding toward the window, treading lightly to keep the floorboards from squeaking. Adam wouldn’t have been pleased to be woken up in the middle of the night, and Blake knew better than to push her luck.

She leaned against the window sill, tilting her head out and straining both sets of ears. The singing sounded like an echo, perhaps coming from one of the rocky hills that surrounded the White Fang valley. It was such a lovely melody. Haunting, but soothing, in a language unknown to Blake. She felt a strange twinge of longing pull at her heartstrings.

It felt like the gentle voice was calling _to_ her, and Blake wanted nothing more than to follow it.

“Get away from the window.”

Blake jumped, heart pounding. She didn’t know how long she’d been standing there, listening to the music. When she turned back to the bed, Adam was sitting up, his dark expression leaving no room for argument. She knew better than to ask _why_ , but perhaps she could get away with a _what_.

“What’s the singing?” she asked, taking a reluctant step away from the window.

“Nothing you need to hear,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Shut the window and get back to bed.”

Blake hesitated; the song was the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard, and she didn’t want to shut it out.

“Now,” Adam said. He wouldn’t ask again.

Blake shut the window, and she returned to bed. She shivered slightly as she pulled the blanket back over herself.

“Whenever you hear that song, you keep the windows shut,” he ordered, easing himself back down into the bed. “If you’re outside, cover your ears.”

“Why?” she asked, unable to hold back her curiosity. But Adam’s irritation with her seemed to be ebbing as he made himself comfortable again.

“Bad luck,” he grunted. “Every time that thing sings, it means someone is going to die.”

A chill ran down Blake’s spine as she settled back down in bed. “Die?”

He gave a sharp, singular nod. “There’ll be a dead body by morning, mark my words. Those demons always shriek when someone’s about to die. Even just listening to it is bad luck.”

He fixed his eyes on her, their bright blue color looking eerie in the dark.

“And you’ve been enough bad luck as it is,” he added, his tone low and accusatory. “Never listen to the banshee, Blake.”

“The banshee?”

He didn’t dignify her question with a response. He closed his eyes, throwing an arm over her, a claiming sort of gesture. She lay still, amber eyes open wide as she strained her ears.

In the quiet of the night, she could still hear the song, muted and faint through the thin window. Blake swallowed, trying to drink it in as much as she could. It didn’t make sense that something that sounded so beautiful, so sweet, could be such a bad omen. It had been a comforting song, like a caress, lulling her into a feeling of peace that she so rarely felt in waking life. She wished she could fall asleep to a touch like that instead of the unyielding arm that caged her.

It would have to be enough, simply to hear it.

\--

The walk to the village the next day was cold. It certainly didn’t _feel_ like summer, and Blake kept her shawl wrapped tightly around herself as she trekked the two miles into town. She’d hoped for at least a little sun that day, but the more she walked, the more she doubted she’d see any; the clouds were dark and heavy, and the air was thick with promised rain.

It felt like it had done nothing _but_ rain since Blake had arrived in White Fang a couple months before.

She picked up her skirts to step carefully around a puddle, then made a face as her boot stepped squarely into a patch of mud on the other side. She was getting so sick of mud. This was nothing like the city of Kuo Kuana, where the streets were cobbled and clean.

This wasn’t the first time she found herself missing city life.

The village itself was very small, a few shops and houses along a narrow dirt road. Blake only went once or twice a week, to buy things they couldn’t produce on their own farm, and lately, it felt like that was most things. Too many of their crops weren’t producing, their animals were scrawny, and Blake could feel the pitying stares of the other villagers every time she walked into town.

She was Blake Belladonna, the poor, silly girl Adam Taurus had lured away from comfortable city living in order to live in squalor.

And each trip into town only served to remind her of that.

She stepped into the general store, shuddering involuntarily at the sudden heat from its wood stove. Walking had kept her blood warm enough, but the general store always felt a little too hot.

“--was only getting worse, so I’m glad he’s out of his misery,” an old man told the shopkeeper, leaning against the counter. “I knew he wouldn’t last till fall,”

Blake’s cat ears perked up with surprise. “Did… someone die?” she asked with a small frown.

The shopkeeper and the old man looked at her, and Blake got the sudden feeling she’d overstepped. She hadn’t gotten to know most of the people in town yet, and these men were still strangers. She felt heat rise to her cheeks, and her ears drooped.

“I-- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” she added, abashed. “I just… didn’t realize that someone died.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” the shopkeeper said, relaxing a little. He took a sip from his mug. “Sage Dooley died last night, lass. It was rather expected.”

“Cancer,” the old man replied mournfully. “We all knew it was getting worse, and as soon as the Lady started singing, we knew his fight was over.”

“The Lady?” Blake asked, frowning. “What Lady?”

The two men exchanged a look. The old man nodded slowly. “Ah, yes, I forget you’re not from here, Mistress Taurus.”

“It’s Belladonna,” Blake said, almost coldly. “We’re not married.”

“Right, right.” The old man nodded sagely, and shot another glance to the shopkeeper that Blake didn’t like. It was a look that said, _Not yet_. “Miss Belladonna.”

“So who’s the Lady?” she prodded.

The shopkeeper raised his thin eyebrows, and jutted his head toward the shop’s window. “The Lady of the Ridge. The Banshee of Cnoc na Bumbóg.”

A chill ran up Blake’s spine.

“What… exactly is a banshee?” she asked uncertainly. “I don’t know the word.”

“Ah, yes… there aren’t many left in the world, are there?” the old man mused, taking out a pipe. “But there’s always been one on Cnoc na Bumbóg. None in the cities, I’d wager.”

“Take it outside, old man,” the shopkeeper said with a grumble, eyeing the pipe. “That thing will stink up the shop.”

“I’m not lighting it yet,” he replied crossly, digging into his pocket. “I know better than that.”

“A _banshee_ ,” the shopkeeper went on with a fixed glare on the old man, “is a… well, like a ghost.”

“A ghost,” the old man scoffed, opening up a pouch of tobacco. “More like a witch, if you ask me.”

“At least witches are actually useful.” The shopkeeper shook his head exasperatedly. “Anyway, lass. A banshee is… a monster, of sorts. Some people like to say that anyone who hears a banshee sing will die soon after, though that’s untrue. Most folks here have heard the Lady sing, at least a little. But it’s bad luck to listen long.”

_Bad luck_. Blake gritted her teeth. She could almost hear Adam say those very words.

“And death always follows that bloody song,” the old man added, shaking his head in disgust. “One of these days, I’m going to hear that song and know it’s for me.”

“You’re too stubborn to die, Port,” the shopkeeper muttered.

“Maybe so.” The old man, Port, having finished filling his pipe, replaced the pouch in his pocket. He looked back at Blake. “But never take a banshee lightly, Miss Belladonna. If you hear singing coming from the Ridge… best you go indoors and wait it out. It’s wise to stay off Cnoc na Bumbóg altogether. They say that’s where she likes to haunt.”

“Like a _ghost_ ,” the shopkeeper said smugly, pushing his spectacles higher up on his nose.

“Ghosts aren’t the only things that haunt, Barty,” Port reminded him. “And if there’s anywhere those things would live… it’s in the forests of Cnoc na Bumbóg.”

Blake was still frowning when she left the shop, not sure how she felt about the superstitions of country folk. At least this wasn’t just something Adam had invented; if this was something he truly believed, then maybe his harshness just had to do with looking out for her. He was trying to keep her safe, she reasoned. 

She looked up at the ridge of Cnoc na Bumbóg, which rose above the foggy trees. The rocky cliffs were an unassuming grey. There was no hint of ghosts, or witches, or banshees. For all the forests were supposedly haunted, the trees there were no different than the ones on the neighboring hills.

No one stood atop the ridge. No one sang.

It was just a superstition, Blake told herself as she made her way back down the muddy streets. No mysterious, mystical women sang to foretell death. The singing would have a rational explanation, and the death itself was coincidental.

There were no such things as banshees.

\--

As the weeks went on, Blake kept her ears open. Not just for the eerie singing of a banshee, but for whispers of any possible deaths in the village. It was a morbid thought; Blake would never wish death on someone, and she couldn’t be mad that nobody in the village had taken ill.

But a part of her _was_ curious. She hadn’t heard the banshee’s song since the death of Sage Dooley, and the song never truly left her mind.

She caught herself humming some of the tune she remembered, though she assumed her memory had warped the melody. It never sounded right, and it never possessed that same enchanting quality that had so captured Blake’s attention. Still, this was her only connection to the song, and she held onto it as tightly as she could.

The more she thought about it, the more she _knew_ that the Lady of the Ridge couldn’t have been real. The song was real, and so was whoever must have sung it. But Blake had grown up in the cities, and the progression of science was all around her. There was no place in the world for druids anymore, or the supposed hedge-witches, demonic pookas, or magic. There was surely a simple explanation for the song.

Blake only wished she could discover what it was, and all she could do was wait for death to return to White Fang once more.

In the meantime, there was enough in her own life to keep her busy, and stressed.

“I think you’ve cursed this land, Blake,” Adam announced at the end of summer.

This wasn’t the first time he’d said such things. It had been a joke, at first, when the first plants began to die, when it was easy to dismiss their failures as flukes. He’d been able to manage a strained smile, had shaken his head, and joked, _Maybe you’re just bad luck_.

There was no joke in his voice now, and Blake’s heart began to pound with anticipation. Adam didn’t move, staring stonily down at the potatoes they’d harvested that day. They should have been a hopeful golden color, but each potato they’d pulled from the ground was covered in sickly blotches of grey. He picked one up, looking it over, the knuckles in his hand turning white as they clenched the spoiled thing.

“This isn’t something I could’ve caused,” Blake replied quietly. She saw the sudden clench in Adam’s jaw, and feared he’d consider this an argument. Anxious to put him at ease, she added, “This is blight, Adam. It’s a problem in the soil, and you’re not the only one this has happened to. At Sun’s farm--”

“What does Sun’s farm have to do with it?” Adam snapped.

“He’s dealing with it, too. And so is Ilia.”

“How do you know so much about _Sun’s_ farm?” Adam’s turquoise eyes blazed with anger, and Blake took an automatic step back. “Have you been talking to him about our _personal_ business?”

“He’s my _friend_ ,” she replied, brows furrowing. “He’s one of the only people in this godforsaken place who doesn’t treat me like some kind of… pariah.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t treat everyone like they’re dirt under your shoes,” he exploded, throwing the potato onto the ground. “You strut around the village, thinking you’re _better_ than everyone because you’re from the big city. But they see the real you, Blake. Everything was fine here until you arrived.”

“This isn’t anyone’s _fault_.” She couldn’t help the way her voice rose slightly. Adam’s eyes flashed, and Blake knew she’d messed up.

“Isn’t it, Blake?” Adam asked, his voice now low and deadly. He stepped toward her, his boot crushing the diseased potato beneath it. “ _Isn’t_ it?”

This was far from the first time he’d laid hands on her, but something about this time hurt her more deeply. She felt his words sink into her skin as easily as bruises did, but unlike bruises, this was a hurt that didn’t fade.

Maybe she _had_ done something wrong. Maybe she’d tracked disease on her boots when she’d moved here from the city, bringing blight wherever she walked. 

Maybe it _was_ her fault.

\--

The leaves changed, and so did Blake.

Each day, she worked with Adam in their fields, pulling up more and more diseased potatoes. They’d been relying on this crop to see them through the winter, but at this rate, they wouldn’t survive the long months without other sources of food. Adam wasn’t a wealthy man by any means, and Blake began to fear the days she had to go to the village. Each time she had to ask Adam for lien to buy more food, she could see the storm cloud pass over his features. He would count out each lien one by one, dropping the cold metal coins into her open palm.

Each coin felt like a judgement, another token of blame.

Where she’d once felt a thrill at the idea of a pastoral lifestyle, Blake now felt fear. If she could, she would have run back to Kuo Kuana and to her parents. They’d tried to warn her that living in the rural villages was not as idyllic as she’d once believed, but Adam had painted such a pretty dream that Blake had been unable to resist. Her parents had been right, of course. They’d always been right. 

But there was no way back to her parents. She could try to send a letter to them, but even if she could afford the postage, she knew the ways of the village rumor mill. Adam would find out about it and put a stop to its delivery. A letter would be out of reach, just as much as affording a journey out of the village.

She was trapped.

There was one reprieve, however. Fall was a ripe time for hunting the edible wild mushrooms of the forest, and with their desperate need for food, this was a job she could do. Several times a week, she ventured into the woods near their home, seeking out mushrooms and buying herself some time away from Adam. Each day, she hiked a little further into the trees, leaving the farm behind her. 

It was the only time she felt she could truly be free, among the thick trees. It gave her time to think.

She could try to haggle more in the village, Blake thought as she walked, the rotting foliage soft beneath her feet. If she could bargain just a little bit more, she could save the change and simply not tell Adam about it. Eventually, maybe she could afford to get out of White Fang for good.

Wind rustled through the trees, and Blake shivered. She shifted her basket to her other arm, then pulled her shawl closer. If the wind meant anything, it would be a cold winter. It wouldn’t be pleasant, considering Adam had sold some of their firewood to earn a few extra lien. They would have to ration their wood that year. But they’d survive.

Blake felt that surviving was the only thing she’d done since moving here.

She stopped in her tracks, suddenly uncertain. It dawned on her then that she’d been walking more and more uphill, and now she realized the climb had brought her to the base of Cnoc na Bumbóg. She didn’t know at what point the woods were supposed to become haunted, but she must have been close.

She made herself relax. Nothing about the woods seemed off to her; the trees were just like the ones she’d been walking through for the past hour or so, the leaves the same shade of red and gold. If there was a curse in these woods, Blake didn’t see it.

The decision to keep walking was an easy one. In a world with few choices left to her, it felt good to make a decision that was wholly her own.

As the sun began to track across the sky, Blake gave little thought to the time or the ever-rising incline. She stopped just short of climbing rocks, but the hike still left her out of breath in some places. This was a different kind of effort than farming, but each new breath of air in her lungs felt more free than it ever did in their fields.

She paused to lean against a tree, uncorking her canteen and taking a long sip of water. This was one positive over city life: the springwater was fresh and clean. If she was ever able to get back to the city, this would be something she’d miss. She closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment to catch her breath. When she opened them, she nearly lost her breath all over again.

A woman stood in front of her, a hand thrown over her mouth in surprise.

Blake froze, her entire body stiffening. She was deep enough in the woods that she shouldn’t have run into anyone from the village, and despite her earlier ease, momentary panic gripped her. All she could do was stare.

Likewise, the woman stared right back, her lilac eyes wide with incredulity, but she seemed to recover first, lowering her hand back down.

“You scared me,” the woman said, smiling sheepishly, a blush deepening on her cheeks. “I’m not used to seeing anyone out here.”

“I didn’t think anyone else _came_ out here,” Blake admitted, finding her breath again and breathing slowly. The woman seemed harmless, at least. More than that, she was gorgeous, with golden hair billowing loosely down her back. She was bright, like a spot of sunshine dappled on the forest floor. “These woods are supposed to be haunted, aren’t they?”

“Not haunted enough to scare you, though,” the woman teased, rolling her shoulders, immediately at ease, her smile almost smug. Blake huffed with annoyance.

“I can respect a little country superstition,” she replied stiffly, dropping her canteen to let it hang off her shoulders. “But I don’t believe in such things.”

“Then you must not have lived here long.” The woman raised an amused eyebrow. “Am I right?”

“Maybe.” Blake felt a smile curling. She was friendly enough, at least. “So what’s _your_ excuse for being out in a haunted forest?”

The woman’s laugh was _beautiful_ , and Blake felt goosebumps flare up her spine at the airy, musical quality of that laugh.

“I’ve walked these woods for years,” the woman replied, smile turning into a smirk. “There’s nothing to be afraid of here.”

“You looked a little afraid when you saw me,” Blake pointed out.

“I wasn’t afraid!” the woman replied, affronted. “I was surprised, that’s all.”

“Right…”

“I don’t often run into people here,” she added, then offered Blake a wink. “Least of all beautiful women.”

Blake blushed, but her smile grew a fraction. There was something so charming about her, something so disarming about her voice, about the soft way she smiled. 

“I can’t say I run into many on my own walks, either,” Blake teased. The soft violet of the other woman’s eyes seemed to glitter with delight.

“So might I ask the name of _this_ beautiful woman?” she said boldly. Blake tilted her head, pretending to consider the question.

“I suppose you can.” She paused for effect, then extended a hand. “It’s Blake. Blake Belladonna.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Blake Belladonna.” The woman took her hand, shaking it once, slowly. Her hand was rough and calloused, and Blake felt as much when the pad of the woman’s thumb lightly stroked the skin between Blake’s thumb and forefinger. “I’m Yang. Yang Xiao Long.”

Their eyes locked, and Blake’s breath hitched. There was something so alluring about Yang’s eyes that made it hard for Blake to look away. 

Yang apparently felt a similar effect looking into hers. Her smile faded, all humor vanishing into puzzled thoughtfulness. They broke their handshake reluctantly, though their eyes lingered. Yang sucked in a breath of air sharply.

“What is it?” Blake asked as Yang took a step back.

“It’s-- it’s nothing,” Yang replied, shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts. She smiled again, a little too quickly. “It’s just… as I said. I don’t usually run into beautiful women out here.”

Blake didn’t buy it, but couldn’t protest when Yang offered out her arm. Though it was a cool day, Yang’s dress had short sleeves, and beneath her shawl, Blake could see the definition of muscle as she moved her arm.

“And now that I have… would you care to walk with me?”

There were probably hundreds of reasons to say no, but Blake couldn’t think of a single one.

Yang was warm, a pleasant heat emanating off of her as they walked through the trees. This was different than walking with Adam; when he walked, it was as if he was dragging her along, pulling Blake along if she walked a little too slowly. Yang, though, walked _with_ her. She did lead, picking out a level path for them, but it didn’t _feel_ like Blake was being led. She matched Blake’s pace, slowing down whenever Blake stumbled over a root or tripped on the ground’s incline. They walked in step with each other, and it felt even better than walking alone. 

“I haven’t seen you in the village before,” Blake remarked, breaking the comfortable silence.

“You wouldn’t have,” Yang replied, smiling a little. “I’ve got everything I need, and the villagers don’t take too kindly to people they don’t know very well.”

“I know how that is,” Blake muttered. Yang reached around to pat her arm with her free hand. The touch was electrifying.

“Where are you from?”

“Kuo Kuana.”

“That’s quite a ways from here.” Yang smiled a little. “What brought you all the way to a little village like White Fang?”

“I thought it would be… a bit quieter out here,” Blake said carefully. She didn’t want to risk saying anything that might get back to Adam. Though Yang had said she didn’t go to the village, Blake had learned to be careful about criticizing him. “A country life seemed… nice. Quiet.”

“And it doesn’t now?”

“It’s… been a rough harvest.” Blake looked away. “It wasn’t what I expected.”

“A rough harvest?” Yang asked sympathetically, and Blake nodded.

“It’s made things a little hard for us… but hopefully, things will pick up next year,” she replied, forcing herself to sound cheerful. She hoped she wouldn’t stay in White Fang that long, that some miracle would whisk her away, but she didn’t dare say that aloud.

“I had a feeling this would be a bad year,” Yang murmured, more to herself. “I could feel it in the air.”

“Like a premonition?” Blake asked with a weak smile. Yang shrugged with her free arm.

“You could say that.” She paused. “But you don’t believe in such things, do you?”

“No more than haunted forests,” Blake said with a chuckle. She looked back up at the trees, the towering pines and oaks, outlined in sunlight. For now. The days were shortening. “Now that I’ve been out here, I’m surprised so many people are scared of it.”

“And you’re not?”

“Not at all.” Blake looked up at Yang, feeling suddenly pleased with herself. She wasn’t some scared villager. “And you’ve been in the woods often enough, right? So there’s nothing to be afraid of here.”

“Just wait till nightfall,” Yang said, her voice suddenly hushed, slowing to a stop and looking over her shoulder anxiously, as if she thought something was following them. Blake frowned, cautiously looking over her own.

Then, Yang burst into laughter, doubling over, arm relaxing enough so that Blake had no choice but to pull her own back. Annoyed, she set her hands on her hips as Yang straightened back up.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

“I didn’t believe you, anyway,” Blake grumbled, readjusting her basket.

“Of course you didn’t.”

“I didn’t!” Blake rolled her eyes. It was strange, how comfortable she already was with this woman. Comfortable enough to banter with her in a way she never could with Adam. It felt like it was natural to do this with her, to tease and be teased. “I’m not afraid of silly things like pookas, or witches, or banshees.”

Yang smiled patiently. “Not even a little?”

“There’s enough in life to scare me already,” Blake said bitterly, thinking of the fury in Adam’s eyes, of the dull thud of his boots. “I don’t need to be afraid of something supernatural, too.”

At this, Yang’s expression softened. “What scares you?” she asked quietly. Blake shook her head.

“Nothing like an old folktale,” Blake replied, once again averting her gaze from Yang’s. “The town is so sure a banshee lives in these woods, ready to kill people with a song. They get so caught up in stories of monsters that they forget that _real_ monsters live among them.”

Yang took a cautious step forward, tilting her head, concerned, and Blake felt she had no choice but to look at her again. There was no smile left on Yang’s face as she studied Blake.

“You speak as though you know a real monster,” Yang murmured. Blake could almost feel a perceptible drop in barometric pressure, as if a storm was suddenly moving in. Blake looked up, but only saw sunlight through the trees.

She’d never gone so far as to call Adam a monster before, but she felt a surge of decisiveness once more, the same kind she’d felt when she’d made the choice to keep walking up Cnoc na Bumbóg. The gentle, encouraging look in Yang’s eyes was all Blake needed to say it.

“I do,” she replied, her voice low. She shook her head, willing to say the words. “I live with one.”

Yang nodded once, slowly, then looked up into the sky. Maybe she sensed the same change in pressure in the air, too. She stared, unfocused, at the trees, and then shook her head.

“This is what I like about the fall,” she said at last, meeting Blake’s eyes once more. Yang’s pupils had expanded slightly, not quite swallowing up the lilac of her irises. “You can see the world change right before your eyes, and you can feel it in the air.” She took a step forward, close to Blake, crinkling the leaves beneath her feet. “I can feel it around you, too.”

“Is this another premonition?” Blake asked drolly. One side of Yang’s mouth twitched with a humor that wasn’t really there.

“Maybe. If you let it be.”

A gust of wind blew through the trees, whistling through the branches, almost like a song. Yang closed her eyes, letting the wind whip her hair up around her head.

Beautiful, Blake thought dumbly. She’d never seen a woman so beautiful.

“Then I’ll keep trying,” Blake told her, smiling weakly. “I could use a little change.”

With a knowing look, Yang proffered her arm once more, and Blake took it.

\--

Yang was full of questions about both city life and Blake herself as they walked through the woods. She had lived in the countryside her whole life, and seemed fascinated by the experiences Blake had taken for granted.

“I’ve never even been to a city before,” Yang remarked sheepishly. “It’s so strange to me that so many people can live so close together.”

“It _is_ pretty cramped,” Blake replied. “That was part of the reason I left. I really wanted to see what it was all about, living somewhere quiet. Somewhere I could actually hear the birds singing.”

“We’ve got plenty of those out here,” Yang said warmly. “Even in winter.”

“It’s mostly just pigeons in the city.” Blake laughed. “But it’s charming in its own way.”

“I’m sure.”

“You ought to go sometime. To a city, I mean.”

“Nah.” Yang waved her free arm. “I’ve got enough to keep me busy out here. My… responsibilities make it hard to leave.”

“You could take on a farmhand, or an apprentice,” Blake said. Yang shook her head.

“It’s… not like that,” she told Blake somewhat awkwardly. “It’s just… better if I keep to the valley.”

This puzzled Blake, but she didn’t pry. She could tell Yang didn’t want to explain, and Blake wasn’t like the nosy villagers; she could restrain her curiosity.

“At least it’s a beautiful place to live,” she said. “What with the hills and forests and all. Even if it’s haunted.”

“Even if it’s haunted,” Yang repeated, lips curving into a smile.

Blake was disappointed by the time their trail ended at the edge of Adam’s farmland. It was getting a little too late to stay out in the woods, and the sky was already more pink than blue. Walking with Yang had been so nice that, for those couple of hours, Blake had almost been able to forget that it had to come to an end.

Regretfully, she turned to Yang, at a loss of what to say. Their conversation had been so easy and free-flowing, but it fell short now. Blake had never been good at farewells. She bit her lip as she pulled her arm out of Yang’s.

“We’re here,” was all she could think of. She saw a similar flash of disappointment across Yang’s face.

“Thank you for walking with me today,” Yang replied. She paused. “I don’t… get to walk with people often. So it was nice, doing it with you.”

“You too,” Blake said, dry-mouthed. She glanced through the trees, over the fields and toward her unfriendly home. Then, she blurted out, “I’d like to… do this again sometime.”

Yang brightened. “You would?”

“Of course I would.” Blake’s heart thudded in her chest, though she tried to play it off smoothly. “I mean… we’re both outsiders, aren’t we? Maybe we should… stick together, or something.”

Blake had heard Yang laugh many times during their walk, but for some reason, when she laughed this time, the sound felt like a chime that reverberated through her whole body.

It was a _familiar_ kind of chime, Blake realized. It was like a sound that had been in her soul forever, and hearing it out loud was almost enough to make her shiver.

But if it was so familiar, then where did it come from?

“I would love that,” Yang replied, the sunset casting a soft light on her face.

“Will… you find me again, then?” Blake challenged, a tremor in her voice betrayed her nerves. Yang’s smile widened.

“I’ll find you,” Yang promised. She took a step back, eyes lingering on Blake, almost longingly. “Whenever you’re as deep in the woods as you were today… I’ll find you.”

“In the haunted part?” Blake asked with a small frown. It was an odd request, and one Blake didn’t understand. Cnoc na Bumbóg was nearly a mountain. There was no way Yang could just _find_ her there. She swallowed, trying to treat it as a joke. “Why? So you can leave me to the pookas and banshees?”

She expected Yang to laugh, and was surprised when she didn’t. Yang only continued to smile.

“I’ll find you,” she repeated. She leaned in, eyes twinkling. “You told me yourself that you didn’t think the woods were haunted, Blake. Don’t be afraid of the banshee.”

Blake huffed, and shot a glance back over to the farm, suddenly concerned that Adam would see her talking to a stranger in the woods. There was no sign of him, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She turned back to Yang.

But Yang was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Blake stared at the wall as she lay in bed, wishing there was a song coming in through the window. Instead, she only heard Adam’s quiet snores in her ear and felt his breath on her neck. She hated the way he insisted on looping his arm over her to hold her close, but at least Blake could always count on his grip loosening as the night progressed. Even sleeping, she always managed to pull away from him, and each morning, she awoke as far away from him as possible, teetering right on the edge of the mattress.

This was all temporary, she reminded herself. She’d find a way out.

In the days since she’d met Yang, the rain had fallen almost steadily, giving her no opportunity to return to the woods to look for her. A part of her still wasn’t sure if Yang had actually existed; maybe she was just a figment of Blake’s imagination, conjured up by loneliness and the atmosphere of a supposedly-haunted forest. Yet she’d spent hours with Yang that day. She _had_ to be real.

 _I’ll find you_ , Yang had told her.

She’d been challenging Blake, to knowingly return to the haunted woods. To let Yang find her again.

There was literally no way Yang would be able to find Blake in the forest. Even if she knew the day and time Blake would enter the woods, Cnoc na Bumbóg was nearly a mountain, and its woods stretched for acres upon acres. Blake would be little better than a needle in a haunted haystack, yet Yang had sounded so confident.

 _I’ll find you_ , she’d promised. _Don’t be afraid of the banshee._

The banshee. Yang had been teasing her, and Blake almost hated to admit that she’d found it charming.

Almost.

Blake smiled to herself a little, and wiggled out from under Adam’s arm. He was deep enough into sleep that he didn’t resist, she was able to pull herself completely free. She scooted herself toward the edge of the mattress, then looked toward the window. It was too cold to keep the window open, but from her vantage point, she could still see the light from the broken moon.

It had been so long since she’d had something to look forward to. She hoped Yang wouldn’t disappoint.

\--

When the rain finally began to let up, Blake still wasn’t able to return to the forest right away. There were too many chores to do that the rain had prevented them from doing, and then Blake had to take a trip to the village. However, going to the village required asking Adam for money, which set her nerves on edge.

“Bring home the change,” he grunted, scowling at the lien she tucked into her coin purse. “Things are tight.”

“Yes,” she replied quietly, looking down at the floor. Adam’s stinginess was nothing new; as it was, he barely gave her enough money to cover their regular expenses. Sometimes, she _didn’t_ have enough, leading to awkward conversations with the shopkeeper and putting back the less essential items. She feared her haggling was starting to take on a begging sort of tone, but she was left with little choice.

It was humiliating, but asking him for more money would only anger him. She kept her thoughts to herself.

“I… was also hoping to visit Ilia today,” she added hesitantly. “I think she was hoping to put some sheep on the market, so I could ask what she wanted for them. I mean, since we lost so many this year, and--”

Adam looked up, his face stone, and that alone was enough to shut her up. He sighed. “Oh, Blake,” he said, taking on the patient tone of a parent correcting their child. “I know the only reason you want to go there is for a social call.”

“But I could ask--”

“We can’t afford to feed any more sheep through the winter, and you damn well know it,” he reminded her irritably, though with less bite than she was expecting. Still, she didn’t dare relax.

And then, he laughed.

“I suppose you can stop by for a visit,” he said, scooping up another spoonful of porridge. “I can handle the work on my own today, and I won’t have the folks in town say I was holding you hostage or anything.”

“Thank you,” she breathed, shoulders slumping with relief.

It was for his benefit as well as her own, she knew. A recent hand-shaped bruise on her forearm had been noticed by a couple of the townsfolk, which caused a fluttering of rumors. A visit to Ilia would be damage control for him; if Blake still visited people, no one could accuse him of being controlling, or of having something to hide. Despite this, Blake was still grateful that he didn’t fight her about it.

She leaned in, giving him a light kiss to soothe any temper he might have worked up. He accepted it graciously, then gave her a nod of dismissal.

Even with his blessing, her heart continued to pound long after she shut the door behind her.

It was another muddy trip to town, but Blake finally accepted the puddles as they were, sloshing through them in her boots. Fallen leaves, shaken free by the rainstorm, lay scattered along the road. Even the few buildings in the village looked waterlogged, the wooden buildings blending in with the mud. In weather like this, it was easy to forget what the valley looked like when it was dry. 

She did her shopping quietly, always keeping an ear open for the local gossip. Though she didn’t believe that the banshee’s song foretold death, she was curious to find out if anyone was dying. It was an interesting theory, and if it meant she would hear the song again, she wanted to be prepared.

“--sounded awful,” a woman said, shaking her head. Blake recognized her only vaguely; a woman named Saphron. “Yet he still goes out! Terra and I are worried he’ll make the baby sick.”

“Shiro never believes he’s sick,” an old Faunus woman said with disgust. “But I’ve seen consumption, and this isn’t it. The banshee hasn’t been singing yet, either, so it can’t be too bad. Adrian will be fine, I’m sure.”

“The cough still sounds too deep for my liking,” Saphron replied, still looking worried. “Even if it isn’t consumption, I don’t want Adrian to come down with it.”

“Adrian’s a strong boy,” the old woman scoffed. “A little sickness will do nothing but make him stronger!”

“And this is how I know you don’t have kids, Mistress Peach,” Saphron replied with a patient smile. “You can’t judge a mother for looking out for her child.”

Blake, who had been pretending to inspect a barrel of apples, paused. An old man’s sickness didn’t necessarily mean he’d die, but it was still a possibility. Blake filed the knowledge away for later, pretending her interest wasn’t as morbid as it was.

For all her interest in banshees, however, there were other, more pressing things to think about. She purposely bought a little less than she usually did, scooping slightly less flour into her jar than they needed, and only half as much tea as she liked to drink.

By buying less, she decided, she could save whatever change there was. If she hid it from Adam, she could start saving it for passage out of White Fang.

Maybe freedom was still within reach.

\--

It was starting to drizzle lightly by the time Blake arrived at Ilia’s farm, so she ducked under the eaves as she waited for Ilia to answer the door.

In the rain, the Amitola farm looked just as pitiful as Adam’s, and Blake felt a twinge of guilt. Ilia’s potato crop had also suffered from blight this year, and Blake couldn’t help but feel she deserved some of the blame. If she really had brought disease in from the city, carried in spores on her boots, that meant it was her fault that their crop was ruined. Same with Sun, and perhaps countless other farms. Maybe she’d even carried the disease through town. Maybe she’d--

“Oh, hi, Blake!” Ilia said, poking her head out the door. “Come in, come in.”

At least Ilia’s house was warm, and the yeasty smell of bread wafted from the oven. Ilia’s family wasn’t as reliant on potatoes as Adam’s farm was, most of their income coming from their sheep. They’d be fine through the winter.

“It smells good in here,” Blake remarked, pulling off her wet shawl and hanging it on a hook. She set her pack on the floor, rolling her shoulders. It had still been heavy on her back.

“What better way to spend a rainy day?” Ilia asked with a grin. “I can send you home with a loaf, if you’d like.”

“I might take you up on that,” Blake replied, still feeling a little ashamed of herself for buying less flour. If they went hungry, it was she who’d be held responsible. By way of explanation, she added, “Your loaves always rise so much more than mine.”

“You’ll get the hang of it eventually, city girl,” Ilia teased. “I’ve been baking all my life, and you just started this summer, right?”

“I guess I got spoiled, living so close to a bakery.” Blake smiled weakly, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “You’ll have to let me know the next time you bake, so I can learn a thing or two.”

“You’re always welcome to visit, for any reason,” Ilia said, her freckles turning pink with a blush. A chameleon Faunus, she could easily pass as human if she resisted the compulsion to change color. “You... know I’m here for you, right?”

It was Blake’s turn to blush. She hadn’t seen Ilia since her bruise had been noticed, but apparently, she’d still heard the rumors.

“I’m fine,” Blake said, waving a dismissive hand. The last thing she needed was for Adam to keep her from visiting Ilia at all, so she quickly changed the subject. “So how’ve the sheep been doing with all this rain?”

Smalltalk was easier than talking about her personal life, and she nodded enthusiastically as Ilia began to ramble about their sheep. Blake, who’d never interacted much with sheep before moving to White Fang, had learned more about them through talking with Ilia than she had with Adam’s curt lessons. Perhaps if Adam had been friendlier with Ilia, they wouldn’t have lost as many that year. Next year, Blake would be more prepared.

If she stayed that long.

“I wanted to ask you,” Blake asked when Ilia moved to pull the bread out of the woodstove. “You’ve lived here your whole life, right?”

“Yep!” Ilia set the loaves on the stovetop and pulled off her oven mitts. “How come?”

“I… met someone the other day. When I was out in the woods.”

“Oh?” Ilia raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. I’d never seen her in town before.” Blake paused. Even though Yang had said she didn’t go to the village, _someone_ had to know her. “Her last name was Xiao Long. Do you know that family?”

“Xiao… Long?” Ilia frowned. “I’ve never heard that before. What was her first name?”

“Yang.”

“Yang…” Ilia pursed her lips, thinking. “I don’t recognize it at all. Where’d you meet?”

“When I was looking for mushrooms,” Blake replied. It would be best to leave out that they’d met in the haunted woods of Cnoc na Bumbóg; Ilia was a firm believer in the old superstitions. “I ran into her, and she said she’s lived here for like… ever.”

“Really? Because I’ve literally never heard that name before. What did she look like? Did she say where she lived?”

“She didn’t say,” Blake said, shaking her head slowly. “But she was… blonde, with purple eyes. And she was…” She trailed off, thinking. The only other word she could think of to say was _beautiful_ , but she couldn’t just say that in front of Ilia.

But Ilia’s smirk was knowing. “And drop-dead gorgeous?”

Blake blushed. “What makes you say that?”

“I’d know that look anywhere,” she replied with an eyeroll. “You’re smitten.”

“I am not!”

“If you were a chameleon Faunus, your whole _body_ would be pink. You’re not as smooth as you think you are.”

Blake’s cheeks certainly felt hot. “So, maybe she’s pretty. But I’ve only met her the one time. I just… didn’t know if you knew her, is all.”

“I’ve never heard of her, but now I kind of want to.” Ilia laughed. “I mean, you’ve got Adam, right? Maybe I stand a chance with her.”

Blake was surprised by the small flair of jealousy at the thought of Ilia walking arm-in-arm with Yang in the woods. Then Ilia was laughing again.

“The look on your face! Yeah, you’ve got it _bad_.”

“I only saw her once!” Blake protested, worry now beginning to trickle in. If Adam heard of this fleeting attraction… “It’s nothing, really. Besides, you don’t know her, and I don’t even know where she lives. I’ll probably never see her again.” She paused. “Who knows, maybe I just imagined her.”

“No, don’t say that,” Ilia said, a little more kindly. “It’s nice, seeing you get excited for something. Even just a new friend.” She hesitated. “I… I meant what I said, about being there for you. If Adam’s been--”

“I’m fine,” Blake said quickly, her face feeling even hotter. “We’ve just been a little stressed out. There’s really nothing to worry about.”

“Okay,” Ilia replied, sounding troubled. “Just… let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“I will,” Blake said gently. And then, to lighten the mood, “But I think just a loaf of bread is all I need for now.”

\--

The next day, the skies were clear and a stiff wind was blowing. It was a reminder that winter was just around the corner, and Blake made sure to wear layers before she went out into the woods. A thick woolen sweater, leggings under her skirt, her shawl.

She was caught up on chores and the weather was finally in her favor: it was time to test Yang’s challenge.

Even in the woods, the wind was still strong, whistling through the trees and tangling in her long hair. Maybe this was the real banshee’s song, she thought with mild amusement. The sounds of nature, of wind and leaves.

As the trees got thicker, the wind lessened, but she still kept her shawl pulled tight against the cold. On such a blustery, chilly day, Blake doubted that Yang would even be outside at all. This wasn’t even the kind of day Blake would ordinarily look for mushrooms. 

But _I’ll find you_ , Yang had promised. This would be a true test of that promise.

Blake didn’t even pretend to look for mushrooms as she strode deeper into the woods. Even if Yang wasn’t there, she figured, she would probably have better luck with finding them further away from her usual stomping grounds. She could still return home with _something_.

Steeper and steeper her walk got, but Blake only allowed herself brief pauses for sips of water. She took off her shawl at one point, the exercise warming her body enough that she didn’t need to wear it any longer. She had to be sufficiently deep in the forest now, she thought, her heart beginning to quicken with something that wasn’t exertion. She came to a full stop, looking all around her and through the trees. Nothing was there.

“Yang?” she called.

No response.

She stood there for a moment, keeping her eyes peeled and her ears open. The wind continued to rustle the leaves, and she heard the occasional crackle of branches and chirping of forest birds.

But no Yang.

Blake expelled a breath of air, and forced herself to smile. If Yang _was_ real, there was no chance that she’d find Blake amid such a large forest. She was foolish to even hope for otherwise. It had been a desperate hope, and that she’d been so stupid as to believe it--

“You came back.”

Blake whirled, coming face to face with Yang, who had gripped an overhead tree branch and leaning lazily to the side. 

The elevation made her look even taller than she was, and Blake found she had to look up to meet her eyes. Yang’s long blonde hair had been pulled into a messy bun, and she was smiling brightly. She wasn’t wearing a shawl, or even a sweater; she wore a short-sleeved work dress, a brown apron tied around her middle, and looked so casual for someone who’d appeared out of thin air.

“How’d you do that?” Blake asked. Yang raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry?”

“I’ve been standing here, looking around… and you just appeared out of nowhere,” she accused, setting her basket down and folding her arms.

Yang stared blankly at her for a moment, her eyes glazing over slightly. It lasted only a second; she blinked, then shook her head.

“Maybe I’m just sneaky,” she said with a shrug.

“And you disappeared the other day, too.”

“So maybe I’m _very_ sneaky.” Yang grinned at her, and Blake couldn’t help herself but to smile back.

She hadn’t been crazy after all. Yang _was_ real.

“To tell you the truth, I actually don’t live far from here,” she admitted, releasing the branch to take a step toward Blake. “And I have great instincts.”

“I don’t believe that,” Blake said evenly, narrowing her eyes with challenge. “Of all the places in this forest I’ve walked to, I picked a place that’s close to your _house_?”

“Yep!” Yang replied, giving the ‘p’ a sassy little _pop_. “That’s part of how you found me so easily the other day, too. I live here.”

“I don’t believe you,” Blake said, starting to laugh, though it sounded a touch hysterical. This was all too much.

“I can prove it,” Yang offered. She held out an arm. “Walk with me?”

Blake regarded her arm suspiciously. The week before, she’d held onto that arm as she walked with Yang through the forest. She knew there wasn’t anything threatening in those muscles. So why was she so nervous? 

Nervous or not, it didn’t stop her from taking Yang’s arm.

They walked on, Blake following Yang’s lead, looking around curiously. There was no sign of any people, or gardens, or livestock. The forest around them was just as wild as any other part of Cnoc na Bumbóg.

“So how did you know I was out here?” Blake pressed. “I didn’t call your name _that_ loudly.”

“You called my name?” Yang asked, then caught herself. “I mean--”

“So you _didn’t_ hear me,” Blake remarked, mystified. “Then how did you know?”

“My father was a druid,” Yang said easily. The path began to level out, a pleasant break from the uneven ground. “He taught me how to read the forest, and listen to the trees. I could sense that something was messing with the natural order of things, so I wondered if it might have been you.”

“A druid?” Blake frowned. There was something too quick, too methodical, about Yang’s explanation, as if she had prepared it in advance. Yang nodded.

“He was a druid, and my mom was a hedgewitch,” she replied. “My sister’s a hedgewitch, too.”

“You have a sister?” 

“Yeah!” Yang brightened. “I don’t see her as much as I’d like to these days, though.”

“Is she in town?”

“In White Fang? No.” Yang sighed. “She lives in a little village called Patch, but she visits me a few times a year. Blesses the land and so on.”

“She does _what_?” Blake asked, disbelieving.

“She-- oh, here we are!” Yang stopped them, releasing Blake’s arm to gesture ahead of them. Blake stared.

Moments before, she could have sworn they were tramping through unending forest, but now, there was suddenly a wide clearing. It looked like a small homestead, with several patches of tilled earth, a couple of them still host to pumpkins and corn. Chickens wandered the property near the house, pecking and scratching at the earth, and a few goats were standing along the treeline, munching on leaves.

It was like this whole property had _appeared_ , as if she’d blinked and all of it had popped into existence. Mouth gaping, she turned to Yang.

“How…?” she asked weakly, then closed her eyes, shutting the scene out. All of this was too much. She opened her eyes again, and smiled sadly at Yang. “This isn’t real, is it?”

“What?” Yang looked confused, but Blake shook her head slowly, trying to come to terms with her own disappointment.

“All of this.” She waved a hand toward the little homestead. “You. This. I must’ve just… made this up. Somehow.”

Yang’s beautiful-- _not real_ \-- eyes crinkled in sympathy. “You don’t think I’m real, huh?”

“It’s… it’s nothing against you,” Blake added hastily, taking a step back, looking at the forest floor. It was still safe to look there; that, at least, was still real. “There’s just so much about you that… it isn’t normal.”

“I’d like to be a little _better_ than normal,” Yang quipped, but Blake continued to shake her head.

“Magically finding me... the way you just vanished the other day... a whole _farm_ appearing out of thin air…” Blake looked back up, meeting Yang’s gaze squarely. “You’re probably just… a product of my imagination. Like I invented the exact kind of person I wanted, or needed right now, when...” She swallowed hard, unable to finish that thought. “Or… or you’re just a beautiful dream I made up to _cope_ with everything, or--”

Blake didn’t see Yang’s hand come up until it settled against her cheek. Yang’s hand _felt_ real, her fingers rough against the smooth skin of Blake’s face. It was warm, and gentle. Real or no, Blake still felt herself blush.

“You don’t think I’m real?” Yang asked quietly. She brushed her thumb on the curve of Blake’s cheek, and Blake’s whole body relaxed automatically.

“None of this is,” she replied, determined to hold onto that belief. The alternative meant accepting something beyond the ordinary, beyond the normal.

It meant accepting something that seemed dangerously close to magic.

“Does _this_ not feel real?” Yang murmured, fingers trailing along Blake’s jawline.

It did feel real.

“It isn’t,” she insisted, though she closed her eyes into Yang’s touch. Her fingertips lingered against her chin. They _felt_ real.

“Don’t let yourself stress over this,” Yang said soothingly, and something in her voice felt like a balm to Blake’s worries. Her shoulders sagged. “Even if this _is_ a dream, that doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it, right? Or would you rather pick reality?”

Blake hesitated. On one hand, she could hold fast to her reality. It was lonelier, but at least it made sense. There were no mental gymnastics to leap through, no false sense of comfort. It was more practical. 

Then again, whatever dream she was enjoying now… she didn’t want it to end.

She opened her eyes, and Yang’s hand fell away. She stared hard at Yang, whose smile began to spread.

“You picked the dream, didn’t you?” she asked with a hint of smugness.

“Shut up,” Blake muttered, but she was smiling, too.

She took Yang’s arm again, allowing her to lead them across the grass and toward the cottage. However, she came to a stop when she saw a field of potatoes. She bit her lip.

“What is it?” Yang asked as Blake pulled her arm away and bent down to unlace her boots.

“I’m cursed,” she mumbled, only half-sarcastically. “I think I brought potato blight in from the city. I had these boots when I lived there, and they must’ve carried the disease on them when I moved here. I don’t want to infect your crops.”

“You won’t infect them,” Yang told her with a puzzled frown. “Really.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Blake said, kicking her boots off. The ground was still a little wet, so she pulled off her socks, too, balling them into her boots. She made a face at the dampness of the ground, but she could sacrifice a little discomfort if it meant keeping Yang’s land safe. Even if this farm wasn’t real, she wouldn’t take any chances. She’d done enough damage.

When she looked up, Yang was staring at her oddly.

“What?” Blake asked defensively, straightening up.

“You’re not cursed, Blake,” she said gently. “You don’t carry blight. You haven’t infected anything.”

“Nobody had any problems with their land until I moved to White Fang,” she explained, somewhat impatiently. “Everywhere I’ve been, potatoes get the blight.”

“And that’s not on you,” Yang replied. She paused, then seemed to choose her next words with care, speaking slowly. “Sometimes… when bad things happen, people like to have someone to blame. Having a scapegoat makes people feel better about their problems, that they can pin that blame on someone. You don’t need to do that to yourself, too.”

“It’s safer this way,” Blake told her firmly, picking up her boots. 

Yang sighed, then nodded. Balancing her basket in the crook of her elbow and her boots in her hand, she took Yang’s arm again to walk the rest of the distance to the cottage.

For being such a little house, something about it seemed homier, and more cozy, than the one Blake shared with Adam. The chairs were cushioned, there were rugs on the floor, and the whole room had a pleasant, earthy smell of wood, smoke, and herbs. It was the kind of cottage she would have expected from witches in fairy tales, not of a young woman in her twenties. Yang directed her to set her things down, shifting nervously from one foot to the other.

“Tea?” she asked, an anxious crack in her voice, and Blake was amused to see a blush across her cheeks. “I’m sorry for the mess, by the way. I’m not used to having company over.”

“It’s fine,” Blake said, looking around. It wasn’t _that_ messy, and she was more preoccupied by the books on the shelf; she was itching to take a look at them. Adam didn’t have many at his house, and she’d left most of her own back in the city. “And I’d love some tea.”

Yang bustled off to the stove, and Blake’s curiosity was replaced by melancholy. The whole cottage was too good to be true. The comfort, the warmth, the smells, the books, the beautiful woman-- it could have been plucked straight from her own daydreams. It probably _had_ been, she thought sadly.

“You’ve got everything here,” Blake remarked, determinedly pushing through her own bleak thoughts. She took a seat in a chair near the cookstove, wiggling her bare feet close. They were cold from the walk outside. “No wonder you never need to go to town.”

“I’m pretty self-sufficient,” Yang replied cheerfully, setting a kettle on. “And what I don’t make, Ruby brings me whenever she visits. It’s nice, to not have to deal with the townsfolk. I’m probably a little too witch-like for them.”

“They’re a superstitious lot,” Blake agreed. She rolled her eyes. “I’ve never heard so much talk of _bad luck_ until I moved here.”

“Bad luck, and things to blame it on,” Yang added, smiling. “People get so imaginative.”

“People definitely aren’t this bad in the city.” Blake pushed her feet closer to the cookstove. “Whenever bad things happened, we just blamed the politicians.”

Yang let out a short laugh. “I’m not sure if the superstitions are worse or better.”

She paused, fixing Blake with a strange stare, and Blake tried to stare back. There was something so intense about the way Yang held her gaze, filling the space between them with an almost electrical current, making goosebumps prickle across her arms.

For a fraction of a second, she could have sworn that Yang’s eyes flashed red.

“Are your feet cold?” Yang asked suddenly. Blake blinked, and the feeling was gone. It took her a moment to register Yang’s words.

“I’m… I’m fine,” Blake stammered, but Yang had already shuffled into the next room, coming back with a thick pair of socks. She tossed them to Blake, who caught them.

“I hope they’re warm enough, for being dream-socks,” Yang said with a wink. Blake felt heat rush to her face, and Yang smiled innocently. “Y’know…” she added mischievously. “You can take those socks home with you, if you’d like. And then, if you ever doubt if I’m real, you can look at them and remember.”

“That’s… kind of sweet,” Blake replied, looking down at the socks. They were soft and clean, dyed gold. They would stand out from her own grey socks, a splash of color in her dresser drawer. Blake had a feeling they would disappear as reality set back in. But if they didn’t…

“Take them,” Yang said, looking a little too satisfied with herself as Blake pulled them on. They were thick, comfortable, and warm. “I don’t think you _need_ them to know I’m real… but I like knowing you’ve got a little something of mine.”

“I think…” Blake felt herself blush. “I think I do, too.”

\--

Over the next few days, Blake’s spirits were high. Even when Adam’s mood soured, Blake could think back to the relaxing afternoon she’d spent in Yang’s cottage, drinking tea and talking. They’d talked about Yang’s small collection of books, and Blake had told her about her own collection back in Kuo Kuana. She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed talking with someone who enjoyed reading as much as she did.

“What are you smiling about?” Adam grunted as they pulled up another potato plant. To him, reading was a pointless pastime; it only took time away from working.

“Nothing,” Blake said quickly, brushing the dirt off the spuds and grimaced at the sickly grey skin. She braced herself, mentally preparing for him to question her further, but he said nothing.

They had hoped that this second, hardier variety of potatoes would have survived the blight. Yet as they moved down the row, pulling up each plant, none of the potatoes were viable. It was another blow to the already struggling farm.

Not for the first time, Blake felt guilty for the little bit of change she’d stashed away. The winter would be a long one, and going hungry was a real possibility. What if those coins were the difference between life and death that winter? What if, by being selfish, she doomed the both of them?

Her head was full of those shameful thoughts when she returned to the village a few days later. She’d tried to console herself that morning by wearing Yang’s socks; whenever she looked at them in her dresser drawer, they filled her with warmth and memory. A part of her had truly believed they would disappear when she’d left Yang’s cottage, but they were just as real as her own socks.

But not even the socks could assuage her own anxieties.

“Good morning, Miss Belladonna,” the shopkeeper, a man called Oobleck, said to her as she entered. She gave him a polite bob of the head, already trying to decide what she could scrimp on. However, something interrupted her thoughts. Her ears pricked up.

Singing. There was singing.

Oobleck cursed, rushing over to the window he’d cracked open, slamming it shut.

“What’s that?” Blake asked, both alarmed and excited. Oobleck shook his head, pushing his spectacles higher on his nose.

“I do believe I told you the other day about the Lady of the Ridge,” he told her in a quick, rushing tone. “Well, that’s her.”

Blake, overly-eager, stepped toward the window, peering through the glass. She couldn’t see the rocky ledges of Cnoc na Bumbóg from this angle, but through the glass, she could hear the familiar, muted song.

It was even more beautiful than she’d remembered.

“It’s probably Shiro,” another shopper said, looking troubled. Blake recognized Velvet Scarlatina by her long rabbit ears. “Coco told me he was coughing up blood yesterday.”

Shiro. Blake remembered the name of the sick man Saphron had been talking about.

“His cough _has_ been getting worse,” she found herself saying, repeating what she’d heard the other day. Oobleck nodded.

“Aye, that’s probably who she’s singing for,” he replied with a sigh. He shook his head. “Poor soul.”

“I… I should go,” Blake said distractedly, making for the door. She hadn’t bought anything, but it was like the melody had bewitched her. That sad, sweet voice had latched onto her soul, pulling her forward. 

“That’s absurd,” Oobleck said firmly. “You’re more than welcome to stay here for the duration.”

“Or come home with me,” Velvet offered. “I know Coco wouldn’t mind. It’ll be a few hours at least.”

A few hours. Was that how long the singing lasted?

On any other occasion, Blake would have been touched by their concern. They were good people, despite the way they clung to superstition. She shook her head.

“Adam will be worried,” she lied. For once, she was glad that his controlling nature gave her a valid excuse to leave. “He… told me to come home whenever there’s singing.”

Velvet frowned, and even Oobleck’s eyebrows were drawn in a hard line. Blake felt a stab of guilt for Adam’s sake; in this case, he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“At least let me give you something to stuff your ears with,” Oobleck insisted, and Blake accepted the scraps of cloth with a grateful smile, knowing full well that she wouldn’t use them.

When she stepped outside, Blake closed her eyes, allowing herself a small moment of enjoyment as she listened. The song echoed through the valley, carried above the trees. The song had words-- or, at least, she thought they might have been words. She didn’t understand them, but it didn’t matter. She could _feel_ the mournful meaning behind the song, and for all its sadness, it was the most beautiful song she’d ever heard.

She looked up toward the ridge, taking a few steps to see if she could make anyone out on the high cliffs, but it was too far away. If someone was there, she couldn’t see them.

Perhaps it was the song, filling her with a strange sense of purpose, or confidence, or hope. She could feel the song sinking into her bones, comforting her. It truly did have the soothing quality of a lullaby, but instead of urging Blake to sleep, she felt a surge of determination.

She would find that source of that song. She wanted to meet whoever sang it.

Resisting the urge to run, she fast-walked down the road toward home. It was in the direction of Cnoc na Bumbóg anyway, and she would have a better sense of direction if she got a little closer to the part of the woods she knew. Velvet said she’d have a few hours of song; she could take a little time.

But the song was _rejuvenating_. Blake’s heart began to pound harder as she traveled along the road, continuing to glance up at the ridge. She tried to remind herself that this song was supposed to foretell death, but not even that thought scared her. Songs didn’t kill people. There would be a reasonable explanation for the melody that so enchanted her.

Just short of the farm, Blake ducked into the woods, not wanting to risk having Adam question her. She dropped her empty pack and her shawl, not wanting the extra weight for this hike. She’d come back for it, and she felt a small thrill; when she came back for them, she’d have answers.

 _Don’t be afraid of the banshee_ , Yang had teased.

She wasn’t afraid. With the song flowing through the air and calming her nerves, Blake took a deep breath and began to walk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all are staying safe out there!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: physical abuse toward the end of the chapter

Blake had never made the full climb to the ridge of Cnoc na Bumbóg before, so forging a path was based more on guesswork than anything else. She knew the general direction she needed to go, at least, so all she had to do was make sure she didn’t get turned around.

The trees were thick, though since the recent rains had stripped many of their leaves, the woods felt a little more empty, a little more haunted. Not that Blake was intimidated by a haunted forest anymore.

Especially when what haunted it was exactly what she wanted to find.

Even through the trees, the song of the supposed banshee was strong and clear. It spurred her on when she began to feel the fatigue of her impromptu climb, her encouragement to keep going whenever she stopped to take a sip of water. It had been weeks now that she’d wondered who had been singing this song, and why. Today, she was going to get her answer.

The steeper the climb got, the more Blake struggled. She used tree branches and saplings as leverage, helping her manage the sharper inclines. A few frustrating times, rock walls prevented her from continuing, and she had to walk along them until she could find a spot she could resume her climb or pull herself up the rocks.

Yang probably knew the best way to get to the ridge, Blake thought irritably, hands scrambling to find purchase on a ledge. If she was lucky, maybe Yang would pop out from behind a tree and show her the way.

But, of course, she never did, and Blake had to find the ridge on her own.

Grunting, Blake took a moment to sit at the base of a tree. She’d lost track of time as she climbed, but both her arms and legs felt like jelly, her hands were scraped, and her feet were sore. She had to be close, she told herself, though she couldn’t tell whether or not the song was growing louder as she got closer. 

She took a sip of water from her canteen, and her heart pounded painfully in her chest. She wasn’t used to hiking so fast, or so high. A part of her wanted to just stop right there, or turn back around, but she couldn’t. Who knew when she would hear this song again?

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the melody wrap sweetly around her. Throughout her climb, it had never once stopped its singing for anything longer than a breath, but it gave no sign of exhaustion. It was still as enchantingly beautiful as when it had started. It was hard to believe that this was the kind of song that would predict a death, or bring bad luck to a listener. She couldn’t understand why people went out of their way to avoid listening to it.

To Blake, the song sounded like _life_.

With a groan, she pushed herself to her feet and capped her canteen. She didn’t know how much longer the song would go on for, so she didn’t want to waste any more time than she already had. She wiped her dirty hands on her skirts, and determinedly pushed herself on.

She was panting heavily by the time she found a break in the trees. She stopped at the clifftop to stare out over the valley, distracted for a moment by the view. She could make out a handful of farms, though from this height, they were so small, almost swallowed up by the surrounding forest. To one side, she saw the smattering of buildings that was the village of White Fang, looking little more than a child’s toy town.

All around her were the tall, craggy hills of the valley, a proud vista that broke against the sky.

So few people would see this view, she realized, and her breath caught in wonder. The villagers were all too afraid of the forest to make the climb up Cnoc na Bumbóg. How many people had ever seen the town from this angle?

The wind continued to carry a song, reminding Blake of her mission. She could always admire the view on the walk back. She forced herself to look away, then oriented herself. This was _a_ ridge, but not _the_ ridge.

But she was close.

With each passing minute, Blake felt more and more worried that she’d miss the singer. A part of her feared that she was going in the wrong direction, and every time she did, she’d pause and listen. She _was_ getting closer, if the volume of the singing was anything to go by. Each time she felt sure of the direction, she’d pick up her pace and keep moving, never leaving the cliffs for long. Her ridge had to be nearby. She was _sure_ of it.

Breathing heavily, Blake leaned against a tree. She hadn’t considered what she’d do if the song faded and she was left alone on the mountain, but that idea began to feel more and more likely with each step she took, with each empty section of cliff she found. It had been such a long hike. Would she just give up, or try again the next time? She swallowed hard and pushed herself forward. She couldn’t let herself think of that possibility yet, not with the song ringing so strongly in her ears. 

She emerged from the small clump of trees to gaze at the nearby cliffside. There was a small, natural decline in the rocks, and Blake peered over the edge of it to examine the ridge below, and when she did, it felt like her heart was thrown, missing an entire beat.

A woman stood at the cliff’s edge, draped in a long, black cloak, its hood completely pulled over her head. She looked like a shadow against the sky, a singular, featureless silhouette, and from her, Blake heard her song. It was like the tinkling of glass, the sweetest whistle of wind, each foreign word so distinct that Blake could recognize every individual sound. Hearing it at such close range gave it a resonance similar to a bell; it lapped against her mind like a wave, striking deeply with each note.

Blake froze.

She thought she’d made a plan as she climbed up the mountainside. She thought she’d decided how to talk to this woman, and had even mentally rehearsed the questions she wanted to ask. Yet now, seeing her there, they all fell short.

She could only stare, and listen.

Blake could hardly dare to breathe as the minutes stretched, as the song echoed across the valley. Somehow, she knew better than to interrupt the song; doing so would have felt like the gravest sin, an act against nature. All she could do was wait.

Wait.

Wait.

The song ended like a breeze, a gentle cessation. Without the song, the world felt like it was waking up from a dream, and reality was rolling back in. The hold on her heart released, and each new breath felt a little more real; _now_ she was aware of the way her lungs burned after her hard hike, and of how tired she felt, but she didn’t let it weaken her nerves.

The cloaked woman didn’t move. She stood like a statue, seeming to stare across the valley in silence. Around them, the wind rustled what remained of the autumn leaves.

Blake took a step forward.

Suddenly, the cloaked woman flung a hand out in a gloved fist, and Blake stopped, one foot still in the air.

“Go,” the voice croaked. It sounded rough, hoarse, and not at all feminine; it was nothing like the song she’d just heard. She opened her fist, making a vague gesture as if to shoo Blake away. “Please.”

“Who are you?” Blake asked, stepping closer.

“Leave me,” the woman rasped again, a little more urgently. She did not turn around.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Blake replied, a little more fire in her tone than she intended. “I didn’t hike all this way to find you and not get answers. Who are you, and why were you singing?”

The cloaked woman’s shoulders hunched as she stiffened. She hesitated, then spun slowly, wrapping the cloak more tightly around her body. Blake stared down at her, brow creasing with uncertainty. The hood hung low enough that, from this angle, Blake couldn’t see her face.

Silence fell between them, and the air felt so barren without the ringing echo of the song. It felt as empty as the space between stars, but Blake held onto her resolve, her gaze not leaving the woman below her.

Finally, the woman slipped off her gloves, dropping them on the ground. Then, still so slowly, she reached up and pulled the hood back.

Waves of golden hair tumbled free, and Blake almost felt dizzy with realization.

“Yang?” she asked hollowly.

Yang’s face was pale, and Blake recognized panic in those lilac eyes. It was strange to see it there; this wasn’t a look Blake would associate with the strong, self-assured woman she’d walked in the woods with. But panic was a feeling Blake knew well, and she hated to see it in Yang’s eyes.

Yang said nothing. She looked away from Blake, gazing back over the valley, like she wished she was anywhere but that ridge.

“That… that was you singing?” Blake asked, recovering enough to manage a question. Yang nodded sharply, still looking away with glazed eyes. In her silence, the only other question Blake could think to ask was, “Why?”

“I--” Yang rasped, then cleared her throat. She pressed a hand to her neck, wincing. “Sorry. My throat--”

Blake’s canteen was still half-full, and she grabbed it almost frantically, pulling the strap over her head and scrambling down the rocks to her.

“Here,” Blake said hurriedly, pushing her canteen at Yang. “Please.”

Yang seemed caught off-guard, surprised enough to lock eyes with Blake. Up close, Blake could see the dark circles under them.

She nodded, then took the canteen from her and uncapped it. She took a long sip, and Blake watched the bob of her throat as she drank. Yang had been singing for hours without a break, but Blake hadn’t even considered what that would mean for her voice. It shouldn’t even have been possible to sing for so long like that, but Yang just had. It made no sense.

“Are you okay?” Blake asked with concern. Yang gave a sharp nod, handing the canteen back to Blake. She licked her lips, water still glistening at the corners of her mouth.

“Used to it,” she said, her voice no more than a hoarse whisper. “My pack--”

Blake turned, following Yang’s line of sight. Near one of the rocks, tucked into the bushes, was a small cloth bag. Blake darted over to it before Yang could even move, grabbing it and handing it to her. Nodding her thanks, Yang took it, pulling out a tiny vial of clear liquid. She uncorked it and tipped it into her mouth, wincing a little as it ran down her throat.

“What’s that?” Blake asked as Yang dropped the vial into her bag.

“Helps my throat heal faster,” she replied, though her voice sounded just as raw and painful as before. She pulled a canteen of her own from the pack, and immediately began to drink again.

“So that… was you,” Blake remarked as Yang downed her water. “You’re the one who’s been singing.”

Yang stopped drinking for a moment, eyes flickering away as she gave a dismal nod.

“Why?” Blake asked. Yang lowered the canteen, then sighed.

“Why what?” she asked, her voice still gravelly with overuse.

“Everyone thinks it’s a banshee that sings,” Blake insisted, gesturing in the general direction of White Fang. “But it’s just you. So why were you singing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Yang rasped, her tone flat. She threw up her free hand in a careless shrug. “I’m the banshee of Cnoc na Bumbóg.”

“But you--” Blake frowned. “You’re not a banshee.”

Finally, a slow smile dawned across Yang’s face. She shook her head, bemused. “Skeptic,” she grunted, then took another sip of water.

Blake stared at her as she drank, trying to organize her thoughts into something that made some kind of sense. She knew someone had been singing a song, and that most of the villagers associate that song with death. But it had been _Yang_ that had been singing all along. Yang, who never went into the village. Yang, who nobody had heard of. Yang, who walked in the haunted forest and could seemingly appear out of thin air.

And now, Yang called herself a banshee.

“You’d best return home, Blake,” Yang said in that painful-sounding whisper. “It was… probably a bad idea to come here.”

“Why?” Blake asked, beginning to sound stupid repeating the same question over and over.

“I didn’t… want you to see this.” Yang cleared her throat again, then massaged the junction of her neck and jaw. “And I need to get home. The singing… it takes a lot out of me.”

“Let me come with you,” Blake said firmly, taking Yang’s pack from her. “I’ll make you some tea.”

“I’m not--”

“Let me help you.” Blake put just enough sternness into her voice to leave no room for argument. “You’re exhausted. And I’ll feel better, knowing you’re home and taken care of.”

Yang stared at her with an obvious, oddly endearing, disbelief. “Why?” she asked in that raspy voice. “I can do this myself.”

“Well, I’m here today,” Blake replied, giving her a gentle smile. She couldn’t explain why she suddenly wanted to take care of Yang; maybe it was an effect of the song, or maybe it had to do with seeing Yang so unwell, but she felt a surge of protectiveness. “So you might as well let me help.”

Yang sighed, then nodded. She bent down, picking up her fallen gloves, and Blake held out a hand to help her back up. Yang wobbled a little on her feet, and Blake held out a hand to steady her.

“Thanks,” she said, giving her a small smile. She’d seemed to give up adding volume to her voice, letting it fall into a voiceless murmur that Blake could barely hear, hardly louder than a breath. “But don’t feel like you have to. I’ve done this enough that I know I can take care of myself.”

“I want to,” Blake insisted, tugging Yang a little closer and threading their arms together. “So, which way are we going?”

“Uh…” Yang cleared her throat, then grimaced, though Blake couldn’t tell if it was from discomfort or from the answer she was about to give. “It’s… not too far.”

“What?” Blake frowned. “Your house is a ways down the mountain.”

Yang sighed, then shook her head slowly. “When I get my voice back, I’ll explain, but for now, you need to trust me.”

Blake opened her mouth to argue, then changed her mind. She had a million questions racing through her head, but Yang wouldn’t be able to answer any of them without a voice. Eyebrows furrowing, she nodded.

“Just walk through the trees,” Yang told her, arm tightening around Blake’s as she leaned a little against her. Her exhaustion was almost tangible. “Away from the cliffs and into the woods. We’ll be there soon.”

Blake still had her doubts, but she nodded. She led Yang into the woods, knowing that she at least needed to get down the mountain. There was no way she’d be able to find the house on her own, but if she could get closer to the area, maybe Yang could point her in the right direction.

The trees thickened the deeper into the woods they walked, Yang leaning more and more of her weight against Blake. She stopped once, to gently pry her arm out of Yang’s, then wrapped it around her waist instead. Like it was all the permission she needed, Yang pressed herself closer against Blake with a contented sigh.

It slowed their pace considerably, but Blake was surprised with how comfortable the contact was. She felt warmth for Yang, and that warmth filled her with ease; there was a depth to this feeling that had never been present with Adam, a safety and reassurance that relaxed her.

Then, without warning, it was as if the world shifted. For a moment, Blake felt dizzy, her mind swimming with vertigo. Yang’s grip tightened on her.

“It’s… more extreme than the other day,” she whispered like an apology. “Sorry about that.”

“What?” Blake asked, shaking her head to try and steady herself again. “What just-- _what_?”

Blake stared all around her, stomach feeling a little queasy. It was like the ground had moved beneath their feet, and when she looked up, the mountain loomed overhead. They’d been high on the ridges of Cnoc na Bumbóg, but now, they were closer to its base.

It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes that they’d been walking. Though the climb itself had taken a couple hours at least, they were now already near the bottom.

“How did-- Did you--?” Blake’s eyes widened as she looked at Yang, who only gave a single nod.

“Another time. I’ll explain,” she promised. Then, she jutted her head forward. “Almost there.”

Blake’s mind spun, but she had no choice but to keep walking. It wouldn’t be fair to demand answers from Yang now, but at the same time, she wanted to understand.

Soon, she told herself, looking up at the mountain again. She could ask soon.

With as much abruptness as last time, the familiar homestead appeared before them, seemingly out of nowhere. That was another question Blake wanted to ask, but again, she resisted the urge; Yang was sagging against her.

“Wait,” Blake said apologetically. She didn’t want to let go of Yang, but she didn’t want to risk tracking blight onto her land. With reluctance, slowly enough to make sure Yang could hold her own weight up, Blake let go. Yang watched with a frown as Blake untied her laces and pulled off her boots, but the frown faded when she saw the socks Blake was wearing.

“You’re wearing them,” Yang breathed, and Blake blushed.

“I didn’t think you’d see them,” she replied, giving her an embarrassed smile. “I just… needed a little brightness today.” She paused, then, boldly, she added, “And I think I found it.”

She found it there, again, in Yang’s answering smile.

With bare feet, Blake walked Yang into the cottage, pulling open the door, setting a hand on the small of her back to urge her inside. Yang tugged at her cloak before she’d even made it through the door, tossing it onto a hook, where it promptly slid off. Blake nabbed it before Yang could, hanging it up a little more gently. 

“Where do you keep your tea?” she asked, seeing the kettle already on the stovetop. Yang moved toward the kitchen, but Blake held up a hand. “No. You sit. I don’t need help to make tea.”

“My house,” Yang reminded her, though Blake could hardly hear the words at all anymore. Yang winced, massaging her throat while Blake shook her head.

“Just rest. You’re not alone today,” she reminded her gently, and finally, Yang obliged. She sank into a rocking chair, though she didn’t let herself fully relax in it as she watched Blake work.

Yang’s kitchen was small enough that it didn’t take long to find everything she needed. The tea leaves, the mugs, a jar of honey. There was still a strong fire going in the cookstove, another oddity that Blake suspected Yang would have to explain someday. At least it meant that she didn’t have to build up a new fire, and she could just make the tea..

“I didn’t know you could sing,” Blake said as she waited for the water to boil, more to fill the silence than actually start a conversation. “You’ve got a beautiful voice.”

She looked up, and saw Yang give an amused huff, still not relaxing in her chair.

“The first time I heard that song,” Blake went on, smiling a little to herself. “I thought… I thought it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. In my life.”

She saw color bloom in Yang’s cheeks, and Blake’s smile widened.

“I know everyone was saying it was a banshee’s song… but I knew better. I knew there had to be an explanation,” she added. “Something that sounded like _that_ … I knew it couldn’t be unlucky, or cursed, or evil. It was too beautiful to be a bad thing.”

She couldn’t look at Yang as she said that; the heat in her face had nothing to do with the woodstove in front of her. Her ears flattened at her own admission, and she continued to stare down at the kettle. Steam was beginning to rise.

Floorboards creaked behind her. Normally, a sound like that would make her stomach sink; steps on floorboards always sounded so ominous under Adam’s weight. But the person behind her stepped more lightly, and Blake wasn’t afraid.

“That goes both ways.” Yang’s soft words came from close behind her, little more than a whisper. “I think the same about you.”

Blake was positive her whole face must have been entirely red, though she shifted backward, closer to Yang. It was close enough to feel Yang’s body brush against her back, and hear her breath. Blake’s heart began to pound, but again, it wasn’t in fear.

She _wanted_ to be closer.

When Yang set a hand on her waist, Blake automatically started to sink against her. She wanted to lean back, to rest her head on Yang’s shoulder, and--

The kettle began to whistle, and both of them jumped. Hurriedly, Blake grabbed a potholder and moved the kettle away from the heat.

Blake had already prepared the mugs, and filled them both with boiling water. Beside her, Yang had grabbed the jar of honey, making a face as she struggled to twist the top off. The dried honey made it stick, and Yang licked some off where it had stuck to her finger.

“You like honey?” Blake asked as Yang grabbed a spoon. She watched, bemused, as Yang dipped it into the jar, pulling up a full spoon’s worth of honey. Instead of putting it into her mug, however, Yang stuck the whole spoon into her mouth.

Blake snorted and Yang froze, looking up at Blake with guilty surprise. The sight made Blake break into a spastic giggle. She couldn’t help it; the ridiculousness of Yang with a spoon sticking out of her mouth, eyes wide, was enough to make her crack up.

“I guess that’s a yes,” she said as Yang slowly pulled the spoon out.

It was another moment before Yang could reply; she swallowed slowly, like she was savoring the taste.

“Helps my throat,” Yang rasped. “After a song.”

“Oh,” Blake’s smile faded. Right. The song.

An awkward silence fell between them as their tea steeped. There was so much to think about, and Blake was struggling more and more to find a logical explanation for any of it. There was no way Yang should have been able to sing for hours without stopping, no way for them to travel down a mountainside in minutes, no way for an entire farm to appear out of thin air.

Then there was Yang herself. She couldn’t deny anymore that she was feeling _something_ for her, but the intensity caught Blake off-guard. Even with Adam, she’d never felt such a strong desire to _know_ someone as much as she wanted to know Yang. In the short time she’d spent with her, Blake had loved talking to her, getting to know her, and now, taking care of her. Being with Yang, Blake felt like all was right with her soul.

Maybe Ilia was right: Blake _was_ smitten.

“You don’t have to explain everything now,” Blake said quietly. “Since you can’t really talk much. But… I do want to know what this is all about.”

Yang nodded slowly, blowing out a nervous exhale.

“I… planned to tell you, eventually,” Yang murmured in her scratchy, raw voice. Even after the honey, she still sounded sore. “If you kept coming around. I just didn’t realize how… afraid I’d be. When you _did_ find out. I thought it’d scare you off.”

Blake supposed it made sense, the way Yang had tried to convince Blake to leave the cliffside. And the panic on her face when she’d taken her hood off…

“I’m not scared off,” Blake said firmly. She took a step forward so that she was directly beside Yang. She slid a hand behind Yang’s back, and Yang leaned against her. Blake’s heartbeat quickened at the touch. “I’m curious about everything, but not scared.” She paused. “You’ve never given me a reason to be scared of you.”

“Never want to,” Yang said, reverting back to the breath-like whisper. She closed her eyes, slumping a little to rest her head onto Blake’s shoulder. Blake swallowed heavily, then took a chance. She slipped her arm around Yang’s waist, holding her closer, hoping Yang wouldn’t notice her trembling. The contact was intoxicating, and so gentle.

She didn’t want the moment to end, but she knew it had to. With a sigh, Yang pulled herself up, smiling down at Blake with a softness in her eyes that made Blake’s stomach flutter. 

No dream could make her feel like this, Blake thought stupidly as Yang took one of the mugs. Yang truly _was_ real.

They drank their tea in relative silence, and Blake was surprised by how comfortable that silence was. Though she talked a little, she didn’t feel like she _had_ to keep a conversation going. As it was, Yang was struggling to stay awake, often closing her eyes for minutes at a time. She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Blake that singing took a lot out of her.

“You’ll need to make sure you go to bed early tonight,” Blake told her when she rose, taking their empty mugs. “You look like you could use it.”

“Probably sooner rather than later,” Yang croaked, smiling crookedly. “And… thank you. For helping me. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had someone do this for me.”

“Anytime you need me,” Blake said, without pausing to give her words thought, “I’ll be here.”

They held each other’s gaze, and Blake felt a tug at her heart. Maybe it wasn’t the song that had so enchanted Blake, but the person who’d been singing it. She smiled, almost shyly, and Yang returned it with a wider one of her own. In the warm light of the sunset that filtered in through the window, Yang was radiant.

Sunset. Blake felt the blood drain from her face.

“I need to go,” she said hurriedly, eyes widening as reality came crashing back down. With Yang, it had been so easy to forget the nightmares of her daily life, but now it came back in full force. “I’ve been gone too long.”

“You could stay here tonight,” Yang said in a hoarse murmur, frowning. “I don’t mind.”

“It’s… not that.” Blake hesitated. She couldn’t tell Yang the whole truth of it. “I just… I should’ve been back hours ago.”

“It’ll be dark soon,” Yang pointed out. “You could hurt yourself.”

“I’ll be fine,” Blake replied, then went on, hoping she didn’t sound rude. “Faunus have good night vision, and the ground isn’t so steep around here-- I mean, if we were further up the mountain, that’d be one thing, but--”

“Blake,” Yang said gently. Even with a rough voice, there was still something so soothing about the way she spoke. “You don’t need to justify anything to me.”

“I--” Blake bit her lip, then looked away. Out of the corner of her eye, she sensed movement as Yang rose from her chair, then took a step towards her.

“Will you be okay?” she asked, voice dropping back to a more comfortable whisper. “When we first met… you told me you lived with a monster.”

Blake flushed, and found herself shaking her head vigorously before she even had time to mull over Yang’s words.

“It’s fine, really,” she said quickly. “I just… need to get home.”

There was a flicker of sadness in Yang’s eyes when Blake looked up, and she could tell that Yang didn’t quite believe her. Slowly, Yang reached out a hand, taking Blake’s in her own. She gave it a squeeze.

“If you ever need anything,” she murmured, “Please, tell me.”

Blake nodded, looking down at their clasped hands. She felt an aching desire to not let go of it, to hold on tighter, to not leave Yang’s farm at all.

But Adam was waiting.

“I’ll come back,” Blake said with determined cheer. “You… still owe me some answers, after all.”

At this, Yang found a small smile. “I’ll count on it,” she replied. She paused, running her thumb over Blake’s knuckles. “Be safe, Blake.”

Out of all the difficult things Blake had done that day, letting go of Yang’s hand was the hardest.

\--

Every step Blake took on her way home was a miserable one. Her whole body was sore from its earlier climb, and without Yang to distract her, it felt like her achiness had doubled. She had a feeling she’d wake up the next morning stiff and uncomfortable, but even this was the least of her worries.

A tight ball of dread settled into Blake’s stomach, making her feel ill. From any angle she looked at it, she was in trouble. She hadn’t bought anything at the store that day. She hadn’t told Adam where she was going, or when she’d be back. She couldn’t tell him the truth of where she’d been, or why she’d been gone. There was no way he’d let any of it slide.

It was dark by the time she got back to the farm. At the edge of the woods, she found where she’d hidden her pack and shawl, and she grabbed them before emerging from the forest. In the window, Blake could see the faint light that shone from their fireplace, and Blake came to a halt. Adrenaline made blood pound in her ears, and a wave of nausea nearly took her out at the knees. She took a slow breath, letting the wave pass before she continued home.

She opened the door, aiming for a cheerful demeanor. If she acted like all was normal, then maybe she’d stand a chance. She had her excuses ready, and with any luck, he’d believe them. But all of her hopes dropped the moment she saw him.

Adam sat at the kitchen table, face half-cloaked in shadow.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said apologetically, swallowing a lump in her throat as she set down her pack. “I went to Ilia’s when the banshee started singing, and we sorta lost track of time.”

Adam’s face was a mask as he pushed his chair back. Blake recognized the barely-restrained fury in the way his jaw clenched. She froze.

“Why are you always lying to me, Blake?” he asked, his voice deadly quiet.

“What-- what do you mean?” she asked uncertainly.

He strode toward her, seizing her wrist and twisting her arm up as he slammed her into the wall. She yelped with shock and pain; the force of his grip was too tight, and he pulled her wrist at an unnatural, painful angle. She tried to wrench it free, but he held fast.

“When you didn’t come home, I _went_ to Ilia’s to ask about you,” he snarled, all composure lost. 

“Adam, please, let go!” she begged, tears pricking at her eyes. She almost expected her wrist to snap, and the pain was blinding.

“And she said she hadn’t seen you at all.”

“ _Please_!”

He pulled her arm a little bit harder, just enough to make her cry out with pain before he released it, pushing it back at her. She cradled her hand close to her chest, where it continued to throb.

“So where were you?” he hissed, still so close, his breath hot on her face. She scrambled for an answer.

“Velvet-- she offered to let me stay at her place while the banshee was singing,” she gasped. It technically wasn’t a lie, but she knew when push came to shove, it wouldn’t matter to Adam. “Everyone, they-- they told me to stay indoors, so I stayed with her.”

She drew a jagged breath when Adam’s fingers laced through her hair. She braced herself, not trusting in the gentleness of his touch.

“It’s been hours since the banshee stopped,” he added, almost reasonably. “Why didn’t you come home sooner?”

“We-- lost track of time,” she repeated. She struggled to think of supporting details. “We just-- I got caught up. With them.”

She held her breath, relieved as Adam’s fingers dropped out of her hair, but her heart sank anew as he reached for her pack instead. He weighed the empty thing in his hand, then threw it at the door. As it hit the door with a _smack_ , Blake was grateful he didn’t use that degree of force on her.

“And you couldn’t even do the one job I’d sent you out to do,” he added mockingly. He found the coin purse at Blake’s waist and ripped it loose. He dumped the coins into his hand, tallying them up while Blake tried to steady her breathing and ignore the throbbing in her arm. At least all the money would be accounted for; he couldn’t accuse her of stealing it from him.

Then, without warning, he backhanded her, nearly knocking her to the ground. She stumbled, automatically reaching her injured hand to catch herself on the wall. She let out a moan of pain, then let herself sink to the floor. She raised her good hand to her face, hovering over her cheek.

“This is why our farm is failing,” he told her coldly, looking down at her. “You left me here alone _all day_ when you could’ve been helping me. You were lazy. And selfish. I’ve been breaking my _back_ here on the farm while you run off and play your little _city-girl_ games.”

“I’m sorry,” Blake mumbled, licking her lips. She could taste blood; she must have bitten her tongue when he’d hit her.

“You will be this winter,” he replied, “when we’re starving. Now get up, and say it properly.”

Shakily, Blake stood, holding her hand close; her wrist was probably sprained. She looked up into Adam’s eyes, trying not to focus on them.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

“For what?” Adam asked, so patiently. She gulped.

“For being selfish.”

He gave a sharp nod, then turned away, floorboards creaking beneath him as he walked back to the table.

“Now go clean yourself up and go to bed,” he ordered, calm once more. He didn’t look back up at her. “Maybe tomorrow, we can have a proper conversation about my expectations for you and your place on this farm.”

“Yes,” Blake whispered.

_Your place on this farm_ , she thought bitterly as she wobbled away, leaving Adam standing in the kitchen. If she had it her way, she wouldn’t stay on this farm at all.


	4. Chapter 4

Blake’s whole body ached.

She woke up somewhat crookedly, her whole body right on the edge of the bed. Adam had tried to hold onto her during the night, more tightly than he usually did, and Blake had lost a lot of sleep trying to pull herself out of his grasp without disturbing him. Her wrist throbbed, and her face felt sore. Between that, the odd position she’d slept in, her stiff muscles from her hard hike the day before, and the fact that she hadn’t eaten dinner, Blake was miserable.

Still… it could have been worse.

She rose unsteadily, hobbling over to the dresser to pull out a change of clothes. It was another clear day outside, but it would be a cold one. Already, the inside of the house was freezing. Adam had chosen to let the fire die that night, and Blake suspected that a part of the reasoning may have been to spite her just as much as it was to ration the firewood. She hated being cold, and Adam knew it, and she was shivering as she rifled through the dresser drawer.

As she reached for a sweater, she paused. A dark bruise had spread across her wrist, in the vague shape of Adam’s hand. Gingerly, she tried to roll her wrist, but stopped with a wince. It was still tender, and she didn’t look forward to using that hand while they worked that day.

Her face was no better. Blake leaned towards the mirror, appraising her reflection, and her ears flattened at what she saw. A large, purple bruise across her cheekbone was something she wouldn’t be able to hide easily, and her stomach fell. Adam wouldn’t let her go into town with a bruised face, but that wasn’t the only place she wouldn’t be able to go.

She wouldn’t let Yang see her like this, either.

_Yang_. Blake looked out the window, in the direction of Cnoc na Bumbóg. She wondered how Yang was feeling that day, if her throat was still recovering from those hours of singing. She longed to be back on the mountain, in the warm comfort of Yang’s cottage.

As soon as her face was better, Blake decided, she would return.

Cooking breakfast that morning was a relief, when she could warm her hands over the stove. Tea, too, warmed her from the inside out, but being warm again only emphasized how uncomfortable the rest of her body was, and how hungry she was. When Adam joined her downstairs, Blake all but shoveled her breakfast into her mouth.

As they ate, she felt Adam’s eyes on her, judging her. _That’s my food you’re eating_ , he almost seemed to say. _Make sure you earn it._

Work was dull and tedious, with Adam’s silence keeping Blake on edge. She couldn’t trust this silence, not when she knew how easily it could snap and break her. She kept an eye on Adam at all times, ready to jump and follow whatever order he gave. Anything to keep him from lashing out again.

“You’re slow, Blake,” he commented right before lunchtime. Blake flinched.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, but before she could back away, he’d reached out for her hand.

She froze, staring down at it as he gently turned it over to examine it. Her whole body tensed; if he was going to twist it again--

“It might be sprained,” he remarked gruffly. “You’ll need to go easy on it.”

She gulped, then nodded. “I’ll… I’ll try.”

“I... may have been a little too hard on you last night,” he said thoughtfully. “But I was just so worried, Blake. You’d disappeared with a purse full of money, leaving me alone on this farm. I didn’t know if you’d gotten hurt, or if you ran away…”

He let the sentence hang expectantly. Blake quickly shook her head.

“Of course not,” she said, as convincingly as she could. “I wouldn’t-- I wouldn’t do that.”

Adam’s face was impassive, and she couldn’t tell whether or not he bought it. Slowly, he nodded.

“I know you wouldn’t,” he said, one corner of his mouth twitching into a tired smile. “Do you know why, Blake?”

“Why?” she asked, playing the game even while she felt her heart racing.

“Because I trust you,” he replied. Almost tenderly, he smoothed the hair on the top of her head. “I know you wouldn’t stoop that low, to stealing from me. Running away from our home.”

“Of course not,” she said, though her mouth was dry. He bent his head, kissing her, the stubble around his lips scratching her chin. He closed his eyes as he kissed her, but Blake didn’t. He was being gentle now, but she could never let her guard down around him.

After what felt like an eternity, he broke the kiss. He smiled at her, and she did her best to smile back convincingly as he continued to stroke her hair.

“I trust you, Blake,” he repeated. “I get that it’s hard, getting used to life out here in the country. It must be tempting to want to take time off, to visit your friends in town.”

Blake opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. She wouldn’t interrupt him right now.

“But our little life here is something we can’t take a break from,” he reminded her. “I’m going to need you here, working with me, at my side. There’s no time to do silly city-girl things, like spending whole afternoons with people in town. I think it’ll be for the best, to be a little more disciplined about forays into town. Until you get a bit better at time management.”

Blake blinked, trying to understand what he was getting at. “So… I can’t go to town?” she asked, confused. Adam chuckled.

“I’m not saying that, my love.” His hand finally fell from her hair, fingers lightly brushing her neck. “You can go to town, of course. But when you do, you’ll need to come straight home. The days are getting shorter, and there’s much to do here. We can’t have you losing track of time with Velvet or Ilia again.”

She bit her lip, then nodded. The thought of not being able to visit Ilia hurt, but she couldn’t argue with him. It wouldn’t be forever, she told herself. She just had to play by his rules, and eventually, he would be a little more lenient.

“Okay,” she breathed, hating her own easy compliance, but it wouldn’t be forever. 

She wasn’t defeated yet.

\--

For the next couple of days, all Blake could think about was Yang.

Every time she looked up at Cnoc na Bumbóg, Blake would feel awash with longing. She wanted to be back in that forest, walking on Yang’s arm. She wanted to be sitting beside Yang’s fireplace, sipping tea and talking about books and music and the forest. She wanted to touch her again, to lean against her, to feel the warmth of her body. 

Blake hadn’t realized how starved her body had been for such tender touch until they’d returned from the ridge together, when Yang had leaned against her. Blake kept thinking back to when she’d been making tea, when she’d almost let herself lean fully back into Yang. She should have been bolder, she should have turned around and wrapped Yang in her arms. If only she were braver, she would have reached out and actually hugged Yang.

If only she were braver, Blake thought bitterly, she would up and leave Adam’s farm altogether.

In the meantime, all she could do was wait. With such an obvious bruise on her face, Blake couldn’t bring herself to enter the forest. She didn’t want Yang to see her like this. It was shameful enough that Blake had gotten herself into this trouble with Adam, and she didn’t need Yang to see that shame, too.

The bruise also meant that Blake couldn’t return to the village to finish her shopping. People would look at it and jump to very quick-- albeit correct-- conclusions. Adam was still trying to smooth suspicions from the last time Blake’s bruises had been noticed, and another instance of it would be damning to his reputation.

“It was that old Shiro,” Adam announced when he got back from town the next day. He’d gone in her stead, and Blake could sense his irritation with the inconvenience. He thrust the heavy pack at her when he came in, and, caught off-guard, she grabbed it with her injured left arm. She winced as she shifted the pack to her right. 

“What?” Blake asked, drawing her injured hand close to her chest. It throbbed, and it was all she could do not to whimper from pain.

“That’s who the banshee was singing for,” he explained, sitting down and starting to unlace his boots. “He died the other night.”

“Oh.” Blake didn’t know what to say; she hadn’t known the man well, but she felt a shiver run down her spine. Yang’s song _had_ foretold a death. “I’m… sorry to hear that.”

“It sounds like he had some kind of cough,” Adam went on. It was as if he hadn’t even heard her. He shook his head in disgust, then focused his piercing gaze on Blake. “It’s just a reminder that living in the country is unforgiving, Blake. You’d do well to remember that.”

Blake bobbed her head in aimless agreement. There would be no sense in arguing, especially when he did have a point.

“We need to do every little thing we can to prepare for this winter,” Adam told her industriously, setting his boots aside to stand back up. Even with his boots off, he still towered over her. “Every bit of food we can stash away in the root cellar, or hang to dry, or preserve, will mean another minute we can survive.”

Blake nodded, letting him ramble. He always did like to think out loud, and Blake was an easy audience. She watched as he paced around the kitchen, nodding at his own half-baked ideas and thoughts.

“And you.” Adam turned to face her, jabbing a finger in her direction. She stiffened.

“Yes?” she asked, holding her ground.

“You’ve been slowing me down with that hand,” he said, and Blake allowed her shoulders to slump a little. It wasn’t an angry sort of tone he was taking, but more of a thoughtful one. “If you keep trying to push it too hard out there, you’re going to damage it permanently.”

“Then… what do you want me to do?” she asked, unsure of what he wanted from her. He considered.

“You’ve got quite a knack for foraging,” he said slowly. “Tomorrow, it might do you good to give your hand a break, and spend some time hunting those mushrooms. Maybe we can put some up for winter.”

“I--” Blake hesitated. Though she still didn’t want Yang to see her face, this was an opportunity. It was time she could spend away from Adam, a chance to rest her hand.

And she _did_ want to see Yang.

Not wanting to seem too excited, she made herself wait a breath before responding.

“I could do that,” she agreed. Adam nodded, apparently pleased with his plan.

“It’s not like you’ve been much help with the potatoes,” he replied with a grunt, and a smile that was anything but amused. “But maybe you can still be useful.”

\--

It was a relief to be in the woods after days at Adam’s side. The oppressive air of the farm seemed to evaporate almost from the moment Blake stepped into the trees, and it even felt easier to breathe. The sky may have been dark, the clouds thick and grey with potential rain, but the atmosphere seemed so light.

She kept a casual eye out for mushrooms, knowing she’d have better luck the deeper she went in the woods, but she moved quickly. The sooner she made it to Cnoc na Bumbóg, the sooner Yang would find her.

Though, the more she walked on, the more nervous she got, a fear sinking in that Yang wouldn’t appear after all. What if Blake was only being nosy, and that Yang had only agreed to tell her because she’d been too tired to do otherwise? What if Yang had no intention of telling her anything?

Worse yet, what if Yang didn’t want to see Blake at all?

“Blake?”

Blake came to a stop, then looked up. At the base of a pine tree, Yang stood, arms loose at her side and looking surprised. 

For a moment, they just stared at each other.

There was no reason for the relief to hit her as hard as it did, but seeing Yang there, tall and bright and _real_ , nearly made her knees buckle with it. She drew in a long breath and stepped forward. The days apart had felt so empty, her nerves tight enough to snap. Seeing her here now was a comfort like no other.

“It’s… so good to see you,” Yang said breathlessly as Blake walked toward her. Yang gave a nervous laugh, and tucked a free strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “I got a little worried, when you didn’t come back. I thought that maybe it was all a little too much for you, or that it scared you, or _I_ was too strange, or--”

Blake silenced her by wrapping her arms around her, filled with the aching need for contact. Yang hesitated, then slowly returned the embrace, arms tightening around her. Blake sank into her, nestling against her body and resting her head on her shoulder.

She felt the rise and fall of Yang’s chest, and Blake almost felt light-headed with calm. It had been so long since she’d had a hug like this; there was no threat from Yang, no fear that she’d warp the embrace into something terrible. She closed her eyes, breathing out a small sigh.

Silence fell around them. They were in a bubble of their own design, surrounded by the falling leaves and crisp air and warm sunlight. It was a bubble Blake could have lived in forever.

“It’s good to see you,” Yang said softly.

“You, too,” Blake replied. With great reluctance, she pulled away from Yang, taking a step back. A part of her felt rejuvenated by that simple touch. The worries and fears and guilt of the past few days were smoothed away by Yang’s soft smile. “I wanted to come back sooner,” she added. “But things have been… busy on the farm. With winter coming up, there’s been so much to do, so…”

Blake stopped babbling when she saw Yang’s brows furrow with concern. She reached a hand forward, as if uncertain if the touch was okay, then took Blake’s chin between her thumb and forefinger. Gently, she tilted Blake’s head to the side, and she felt heat flood her face. She looked away.

“What happened?” Yang asked, her voice laden with worry.

“It’s nothing,” Blake said hastily, shaking her head free of Yang’s grasp. She’d prepared a story for the bruise that still darkened her face. “I hit a branch when I went home the other day. I guess it was darker than I thought.”

“I see.” Yang fell silent for a moment, then sighed. “I should’ve thought to offer you a lantern.”

Though lying to Yang made Blake feel uneasy, she couldn’t help but feel a little relieved that she believed Blake’s excuse. She managed a laugh.

“You had other things to worry about,” she reminded Yang, her smile feeling more authentic as she shifted the topic away from herself. “You were so tired that I was half-worried I’d have to drag you to bed myself.”

At this, Yang snorted. “I’m not _that_ helpless.”

“I know,” Blake replied, holding up her hands in surrender. She let her gaze soften. “How _are_ you feeling, though? You sound a lot better.”

“Oh!” Yang flushed, embarrassed. “Yeah. I bounce back pretty quickly.”

“That’s good to hear.” Blake smiled. “I was worrying that you might’ve damaged your throat or something.”

“Nah,” Yang said, with a bit of pride. “For an ordinary person, it probably would, but not for me.”

“Because you’re _extra_ ordinary,” Blake said teasingly. Yang’s blush deepened.

“I guess we should talk about that, huh?” she asked sheepishly. “Since you came all the way out here and all.”

Blake huffed, then shifted her basket into her other arm in order to take Yang’s arm in her uninjured one. At the touch, Yang lit up.

“I didn’t come out here just for that,” Blake admitted. Even on such a cold day, her cheeks continued to blaze. “I came out here for _you_.”

“Oh?” Yang’s grin seemed to grow.

“And for mushrooms,” Blake added, shrugging the basket. “But I needed _some_ practical reason to be out here.”

Yang laughed, causing goosebumps to run up Blake’s spine. Now that she could associate Yang’s voice with the banshee’s song, it was easy to see how such a laugh enchanted her.

“Tell you what,” Yang said, eyes twinkling as she patted Blake’s arm. “We go back to my house, have some tea, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, and then I’ll show you the best spots for mushroom-picking.”

“That,” Blake replied with a small smile, “sounds like a wonderful idea.”

Though Blake had been certain Yang’s house wasn’t anywhere near the place she’d found Yang that day, it was only minutes before her farmland appeared through the trees. As soon as they stepped onto the grass, Blake paused, shaking her head with more amusement than confusion.

“Maybe you can explain this?” she asked, looking up at Yang with a raised eyebrow.

“Hmm?” Yang asked distractedly. Blake gestured to the farm and its cottage.

“All of this. The way we never seem to be far from your house, and how it always seems to pop up out of thin air.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Yang smiled, a rosy tint in her cheeks. “Basically, my house is under a cloaking spell-- my sister set it up for me. It’s something a lot of witches do, when they don’t want to be found by townsfolk. Witches aren’t always seen as _good_ people, y’know?”

“I could see that,” Blake agreed, pulling her arm out of Yang’s. She knelt down to untie her boots. “And what about how we always get here so quickly?”

“That’s more specific to my connection with the forest,” Yang replied, frowning as she watched Blake slip a boot off. “You don’t need to keep taking those off, Blake.”

“If my boots have--”

“They don’t,” Yang said firmly. She knelt beside Blake, taking her hand. “You’re not carrying any disease, you’re not cursed. You didn’t cause the blight.”

Blake looked up at her, still feeling doubt in her heart. But Yang’s eyes were full of certainty, so confident and strong that Blake’s doubt didn’t hold up. She let go of it with a sigh and a nod.

“I promise,” Yang added, a touch of softness in her tone, and somehow, it was enough reassurance for Blake to put her boots back on.

The cottage was just as comfortable as it had been the other day, and Blake felt welcomed, immediately at home. It was so warm, and she pulled off her shawl as Yang bustled over to the cookstove. She dropped her basket on to the ground, looking around the room appreciatively.

“Take a seat!” she told Blake warmly, waving a hand behind her at the rocking chair. “This time, _you_ get to sit down while _I_ do the work!”

Blake laughed, but didn’t argue. There was a sheepskin on the seat of the chair, and it was delightfully soft when she sat on it. It wouldn’t be hard to take a nap in a chair like this, and Blake closed her eyes in relaxation.

“I’m sorry, again, for the other day,” Yang said apologetically, and Blake opened one eye. Yang was still standing at the cookstove, but had turned to face her as she waited for the kettle to boil. “You shouldn’t have needed to do all of that for me.”

“It wasn’t any trouble at all,” Blake replied. She smiled. “And I like having tea with you.”

“Well, any time you want to, you’re always welcome here.” Yang’s returning smile was so light, and Blake felt a flutter in her stomach. She watched silently while Yang finished with the tea, smiling fondly at the amount of honey Yang stirred into her own cup.

The tea served, Blake got up to join Yang at the small kitchen table, sitting across from her. They took their first sips in silence, letting their eyes lock on each other.

All of the questions Blake had-- about banshees, about magic, about Yang herself-- all fled from her mind as she lost herself in Yang’s gaze. There was so much she wanted to ask, but looking into those lilac eyes, it was like she’d forgotten how to speak.

Yang set her mug down, a small smirk twitching to life on the corners of her mouth. “So,” she said, extending her arms in an open shrug. “What would you like to know?”

“Well…” Blake stopped, unsure, then went on anyway. “Everything, I guess.”

Yang laughed. “And I’ll tell you. But it would help if you could narrow that down, to start with.”

Blake let out a small huff, more of amusement than annoyance. “This is just… a lot, you know?”

“I know,” Yang said, almost sympathetically, tracing a finger along the sides of her mug. “I got to grow up with all this, at least. It wasn’t dumped on me in one afternoon.” She paused, thinking. “How about… you tell me what you know, and I’ll fill in the blanks. Like, I’ll tell you if something’s true or false.”

“Oh!” Blake nodded. “That would work.”

“Then go for it.”

It was probably a good idea to start small. She thought for a second, then said, “So… you’re a banshee. True or false?”

Yang raised an eyebrow. “True. But you already knew that one.”

“I know,” Blake replied, feeling herself blush. “But I wanted to hear it again. To be sure.”

“Okay,” Yang said. Blake nodded slowly, coming up with her next question.

“The people in White Fang say you sing when someone’s about to die. Is that true?”

“True.” Yang folded her arms on the tabletop, meeting Blake’s eyes with a serious, level stare. There was no smile now.

“And they also say it’s bad luck to listen to your song,” Blake added, mimicking her stance, careful not to bend her injured wrist too much. “Is _that_ true?”

“That’s false,” Yang replied evenly. “Over the years, people have come to associate banshees with death, and most people nowadays think that we’re the _cause_ of that death. But that’s never been the case.”

“So you’re just like… heralds of death,” Blake mused, then took a sip of her tea. Yang shrugged.

“It’s not just death.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s…” Yang bit her lip as she searched for words. “Well, death’s a big part of it,” she said slowly, “but it’s more complicated than that. It’s like… my mother says it’s that we sing for _conclusions_ , or whenever there’s a major shift in the world around us.”

“Your mother?” Blake asked, surprised. “I thought you said your mom was a hedgewitch.”

“It’s…” Yang grimaced. “It’s complicated.”

Blake tilted her head, making sure to meet Yang’s eyes. “I’m listening.”

Yang let out a hollow laugh. “That part… it’s not really banshee-specific lore. More like _me_ -specific lore.”

“When I said I wanted to know everything,” Blake replied, “I meant about you, too.”

She saw Yang’s eyes soften, and flicker down to Blake’s hands. Tentatively, Blake stretched her good hand out, opening it, offering it to Yang. Yang smiled a little, then took it. Her palm was still warm from where she’d been touching the mug of tea, and Blake laced their fingers together. She’d almost forgotten that a hand could be so gentle.

“My mom _was_ a hedgewitch,” Yang explained, looking back up at Blake. “But my other mother-- my _blood_ mother-- was a banshee. And that’s who I got my gift from.”

“So it runs in families?”

“As far as we know, yeah,” Yang said with a shrug. “But everything about banshees, I learned from Raven.”

“I see,” Blake remarked, pretending she wasn’t affected by the way Yang’s thumb stroked the back of her hand.

“But the way she always explained it, banshees don’t just sing about death,” Yang told her. “Banshees sing for _change_. Often, it’s death, but not always. But when it’s _not_ death… people will still find something bad to associate with our song.”

“That’s… sad,” Blake said. She shook her head. “It really is the most…” She paused and looked down, her ears pinning with sudden embarrassment, but she went on anyway. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. It’s just sad, that people can’t hear that.”

When she looked back up, Yang’s whole face was pink, bringing out a small smattering of freckles on her face.

“So you did mean it, when you said that the other day,” she remarked. Blake smiled.

“Of course I did! I meant everything I said. It’s beautiful.”

Yang squeezed her hand a little more tightly, and both of their smiles spread. Blake felt it again, that _connection_ with her, tightening around her heart and filling her body with warmth. The table between them felt like it kept them too far apart, and Blake was overwhelmed by the urge to stand up and go around to Yang’s side of the table, to pull up a chair beside her, and--

Blake had to stop herself; her daydreaming was making her blood get hot. Abashed, she let go of Yang’s hand, and both of them slid their hands onto their laps.

For a moment, neither of them seemed to know what to say next. Blake hastily pulled her mug closer, taking a quick sip, feeling Yang’s eyes on her. It was such a foreign feeling, having someone else watching her like this, to be the sole focus of their quiet attention. Whenever it was Adam’s eyes on her, she always felt like he was searching for something to correct or criticize. Yang’s observation was so wonderfully different, so gentle and unobtrusive.

“Any more questions?” Yang asked softly, with mild amusement.

“Oh! Um, yes,” Blake said, setting her mug down with a little too much force. “So, death is one of the things you sing about. What other sorts of changes make you sing?”

“Well,” Yang replied thoughtfully, tapping her mug. “I did sing once this spring. I could sense that the harvest wouldn’t be good, and it felt so strong that I _had_ to sing about it.”

“That must’ve been before I got here. What did the townsfolk say about it?”

“I’m not actually sure,” Yang said. “Since I don’t go into town, I’m not sure how people explained it. Usually, they’ll just take my song as a bad omen, or attribute it to the death of livestock or something.”

“So… you knew that the harvest would be bad,” Blake repeated, surprised. “So if the town had just listened to you, they would’ve known to prepare for a bad year.”

“That’s what banshees did, in the old days,” Yang explained wistfully, then took another sip of her tea. “We would help prepare our people for things to come. Death, drought, famine… banshees sing to let people know that change is at hand, that the balance in the world is shifting.”

“But I’m guessing death is the usual reason for singing?”

“Yeah.” Yang chuckled. “Droughts and blights are a little less common than a person’s death. So I guess I can’t blame people for seeing the worst in us.”

“Even if it isn’t even your fault?” Blake asked. Yang shrugged, though her expression seemed sad. “Have you ever thought about not singing anymore? To live a more normal life?”

“It’s… not really possible for banshees.” Yang looked down into her mug. “The singing… it’s a compulsion. I couldn’t stop it even if I tried. And I _have_ tried.”

“What happens?”

“It’s like…” Yang blew out a puff of air. “Pressure. Pressure that keeps building up, like steam in a teapot, or water against a dam. I can feel it in the air, on my skin…” Absently, Yang smoothed a hand over one of her bare forearms, like she could feel a song clinging to her there. She stared down at her mug, eyes glazing. “And I… I just have to sing. To get as high up as I can, to somewhere I know people will hear me. And I just _sing_ , so everyone can hear it. And I sing as long as I can. I can’t stop, I just have to keep singing, and singing…”

As Yang spoke, Blake could almost feel the crackling in the air, and the desire to be _close_ to Yang was nearly unbearable. The air seemed so _thick_ , nearly hazy, and Blake’s breaths drew long and fast. Yang kept her eyes low, lost in her own world even as Blake looked on.

“Until you run out of song?” Blake asked quietly, breaking the spell. Yang’s eyes snapped back to her, looking startled, like she’d forgotten Blake was there.

“Well… it’s more like the song is done with _me_ ,” Yang replied, her smile lopsided. She regarded Blake for a long moment, her irises dark. “It’s… hard to explain, I guess.”

For a moment, the two stared at each other. A part of Yang still seemed to be hypnotized while her eyes held on Blake, and Blake didn’t dare break that gaze; she could have stared into Yang’s eyes forever. She _wanted_ to stare into Yang’s eyes forever.

Then, Yang relaxed, shoulders slumping. She gave Blake a weak smile.

“You know,” she remarked, tilting her head thoughtfully. “It’s funny. You almost make me want to sing.”

“Why?” Blake asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“I’m… not sure.” Yang balanced her elbows on the table and set her chin in her hands. She leaned forward. “But it’s _fascinating_.”

“Should I be worried? About dying?” Blake’s question was only mildly concerned, and Yang snorted.

“It doesn’t feel like it,” she replied. “It’s… different with you. But I don’t always know specifics. It’s just a feeling.”

“Well…” Blake paused, then tried to give Yang her most winning smile, her ears perking up. “Maybe, whatever it is, it’ll make for a good song.”

“If it’s about you,” Yang replied, not quite teasing, “I know it will be.”

\--

It was probably the strangest conversation Blake had ever had. Every so often, she had to stop, to remind herself that they were talking about _magic_ , in a more serious way than as a plot device in a fairy tale. Yang was talking about real magic, and Blake struggled to grasp some of the most basic concepts.

“But the trees looked the same,” she said, gesturing with her hand. “If we’d been walking that fast, the trees should have looked… blurry or something.”

“It’s a forest,” Yang replied patiently, sliding her empty mug from one hand to the other. “It can do what it wants.”

“But the trees stayed the _same_.”

“Did they?” Yang asked pleasantly.

Out of all the things Yang had told her that afternoon, the one thing she couldn’t understand was how Yang moved them around the forest so quickly. Every time she’d gone to Yang’s house, no matter where she’d been in the forest, it had only taken minutes to walk there. Even on the day Yang had been singing, when they’d met on the ridge, they’d only walked for a few minutes before arriving back at Yang’s cottage near the base of the mountain.

Yang had explained that her _walking_ was just a display of her connection to the forest, but Blake didn’t get it.

“When the environment gets too different too quickly, it’ll make you a little dizzy,” Yang told her. “Like, a rapid change in altitude. But the trees themselves are very accommodating.”

“So the trees move?”

“No,” Yang insisted. “The trees can’t move. They’re trees.”

Blake groaned, making Yang laugh. “It doesn’t make _sense_.”

“Magic often doesn’t.”

It was an unsatisfying answer, but she supposed magic wasn’t really supposed to make sense. That’s why it was magic, and not science.

But, if she accepted the lack of explanations, it could help her understand Yang a little more. It was how Yang moved so easily about the forest, how she could make her farm invisible, how she could sing for hours on end. The simplest, and only, thing she could do was just accept everything for what it was: _magic_.

“So how do you know that you’re getting back to your house, instead of just a random spot in the forest?” Blake challenged. She took the last cold swallow of her tea and grimaced at the bitterness; she’d gone too long between sips.

“The important places I need are sorta… anchored to me,” Yang explained. “My house, for one. The ridge. If I want to go anywhere else, I have to walk like everyone else”

“I see,” Blake said, then frowned. This wasn’t right, either. She narrowed her eyes at Yang. “If you have to walk like everyone else… how do you always find me so quickly?”

Yang slid her mug a little too far, nearly sending it flying off the table before she caught it at the last minute. She laughed nervously. “Oops.”

Blake rolled her eyes, biting back an amused smirk as she took Yang’s mug, pulling it towards herself instead.

“It’s… another one of those things I don’t really understand,” Yang said sheepishly. “When I said earlier that you make me want to sing… it’s like, I can feel the song _around_ you. And… I guess I gravitate to it pretty naturally.”

“So it had nothing to do with druids, or _knowing the forest_?” Blake asked. It still felt so strange, to talk so seriously about magical skills. Reluctantly, Yang nodded.

“People are more willing to accept druids than banshees,” she replied. “At least some druid stuff can be explained, so I thought it might be easier for you. But this isn’t druid magic. With you…” She shook her head. “I can just _feel_ the song around you sometimes. It makes you so easy to find.”

“So you found me with banshee-magic,” Blake mused.

“Pretty much.”

Blake cocked her head, trying to let go of her need for logic in favor of _magic_. If she didn’t think about it too hard, she could _almost_ believe it. She sighed, then pushed her chair back. “More tea?”

“If you’re getting some, then I’ll have another cup.”

Blake smiled picking up first her own mug, then Yang’s. But her injured hand grabbed it too quickly, and the motion was a little too careless with her wrist. She gasped in pain, accidentally dropping the mug onto the floor with a dull _thunk_.

“Blake?” Yang exclaimed, jumping up. “What’s wrong?”

Blake grunted, clutching her hand close. Yang, eyes wide, reached out for it, then hesitated.

“May I?” she asked. Blake, still off-guard from the spasm of pain, didn’t think before she nodded.

Yang took her hand, gingerly rolling up the sleeve of Blake’s sweater. She turned it over, her brow furrowing as a storm rolled across her face. She traced over the bruise lightly with her fingers, the touch so delicate that Blake almost didn’t feel it at all.

Then, she looked up at Blake’s face, studying the bruise on her cheek. Blake said nothing, only feeling blood rush to her face and her ears flatten at the examination.

“You didn’t hit a branch going home, did you?” Yang asked softly.

Blake found she couldn’t speak. All she could do was roll a shoulder in a shrug, and look over Yang’s shoulder instead of into her eyes.

“Blake?”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Blake said defensively, pushing her sleeve back down. “It was just an accident.”

“Blake,” Yang repeated, still in that same, gentle tone. “Can I see it again? Please?”

Warily, Blake extended her arm. The way Yang rolled her sleeve up was so careful, as if she was worried that too hard a touch might break Blake’s arm. She pressed the pads of her fingers against the bruise with soft, experimental pressure. Blake winced.

“It’s just a sprain,” Blake muttered.

“I’ll make a poultice,” Yang said, turning Blake’s hand over again, fingers sweeping across the bruise. “And this should probably be splinted. At least for a little while.”

“I… didn’t know.”

Yang’s hand on her jaw was a tender touch, and she couldn’t stop herself from turning her head at Yang’s urging, to look in her eyes. There was real concern there, and a tangible sadness that almost made Blake want to cry herself.

“No one should be touching you like this,” Yang said quietly.

“It’s honestly fine,” Blake insisted. Her heart pounded in her chest, and a part of her wanted to yank her hand away from Yang’s and run out the door. “I just need to be more careful.”

Yang held her stare, and the panic that flooded Blake’s body began to ebb, somehow being soothed away by those calm, soft eyes. In its place, sadness seeped in. Sadness, for everything she’d left behind. Sadness, for her crushed dreams. Sadness, for what her life had become. Blake felt a knot in her throat.

“Let me make you that poultice, then,” Yang murmured, letting go. With a last, lingering glance, she turned toward her small kitchen. Blake sank back into her chair, knees buckling under her own weight, shivering.

She’d thought she could handle the questions, when Yang noticed the bruise on her face. She’d even tried to consider what she’d do if Yang had noticed the one on her wrist. But her own vague plans stood no chance against reality and Yang’s steadiness.

She watched dumbly as Yang took down one of the books from her shelf, flipping through it like she knew what she was looking for. She stopped on a page and skimmed it. She shut the book with a _snap_ , then strode briskly to another shelf, lined with jars.

“You… really don’t have to do this,” Blake said awkwardly, trying to keep herself from trembling. “I can do this at home.”

“My sister is a hedgewitch, remember?” Yang asked, giving Blake a weak smile. “I picked up a few healing tricks. At the very least, my poultices are going to be a _little_ better than yours.”

Defeated, Blake nodded, letting Yang get back to work. Smells of herbs wafted through the cottage as Yang ground them with a mortar and pestle. Something about the scent was relaxing, and Blake took a deep breath, trying to use the scent to calm down as Yang prepared the poultice and heated it over the stove.

“I really didn’t mean for you to do any of this,” Blake said when Yang came to her, carrying a small ceramic bowl. “I didn’t want--”

“Shhh.” Yang pulled her chair close to Blake and took a seat, settling the bowl on the table. Inside was a thick, wet mash of herbs. “Let me see your hand.”

“But I can--”

“Sweetheart,” Yang said gently. “Let me take care of you this time.”

Blake closed her eyes so she didn’t have to see Yang take her hand, or watch as she rolled up Blake’s sleeve again. Yang paused.

“Is this hurting you?”

“What?” Blake’s eyes fluttered open, looking down at the hand Yang held. “No, why?”

“It just looked like you were flinching,” Yang said. Blake shook her head.

“Sorry. You’re fine.”

Methodically, Yang scooped up some of the paste with her fingers, applying a thick layer to the bruise. When the top of Blake’s wrist was covered with it, Yang covered it with a warm cloth, holding the poultice in place as she turned Blake’s wrist over. She repeated the process, and already, Blake felt the ache in her wrist lessen.

The poultice applied, Yang wrapped Blake’s wrist in another strip of cloth to keep the paste from falling off. She tied it securely, but not too tightly. Finished, she wiped off her fingers and set Blake’s hand in her lap, running her thumb over the back of Blake’s hand soothingly.

“Who did this to you?” Yang asked softly.

Blake bit her lip. She was too deep into it to get away with a clean lie. Not that she wanted to lie to Yang, anyway; Yang had been so honest with her, that even the thought of lying filled Blake with a sick feeling. But saying it out loud-- admitting what Adam had done to her-- made her feel sick in a different way.

“Does it matter?” Blake asked instead, skimming her fingers over the cloth tied around her wrist, brushing against Yang’s hand. The poultice was heavy on her skin, but her wrist was no longer throbbing. “I’m getting away from him the moment I can. I’m trying to save up money for safe passage out of this town and away from him.”

“Who _is_ he?”

Blake sighed, slumping a little. She didn’t mean to slump in Yang’s direction, but it was reassuring to feel Yang’s hand at her back, circling around her waist almost protectively.

“Adam,” she said at last, her ears drooping as she said his name. “We… met in the city, and I’d see him from time to time. He told me that he had some land, and was looking for someone to work it with. He seemed hard-working, and nice… handsome. Everything seemed perfect, and he promised me a quiet, simple life. So I moved out here with him, thinking he’d be the man I’d marry someday. Only now…”

Her voice trailed off, and she leaned even more into Yang. It was probably wrong, to seek comfort like this, but the way Yang began to rub her back was so calming. She rested her full weight against Yang’s side, feeling encouraged enough to tilt her head onto Yang’s shoulder.

“It was supposed to be so different,” Blake murmured, closing her eyes. She let herself have a moment of silence, to enjoy the tenderness of Yang’s arm around her, the calming motion of a hand rubbing her back. How was it that Yang, a woman she still hardly knew, could feel safer than Blake’s own home?

“But you’re getting away?” Yang asked quietly. Blake nodded, still not lifting her head from Yang’s shoulder.

“I’m going to save every lien I can. I’m hoping I can be gone before spring planting.”

“That still means you’ll be stuck with him through the winter,” Yang commented. The worry in her voice was plain. Blake shrugged.

“If I’m careful, I should be all right,” she said. “Usually, when he gets angry, it’s only because I’ve done something wrong with planting, or harvesting, or other farmwork.”

“That doesn’t mean you deserve this,” Yang told her firmly, letting go of Blake’s hand to brush the bruise on her cheek. Her hand trailed from the bruise to Blake’s temple, where she combed strands of dark hair through her fingers. Blake closed her eyes again, completely at ease with the touch. She wouldn’t pull it, like Adam might. Yang’s touch was so _true_.

“I-- I know,” she said, though her words sounded weak to her own ears. “But if there’s no farmwork for him to get mad about… I should be fine.”

“Blake,” Yang murmured. “People like that… they don’t just stop. He _will_ find other reasons.”

There was no point in telling Yang that Blake was well aware of this already; her current injuries were proof enough of that. But Blake shrugged again.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Is there any way you can get out sooner?” Yang asked worriedly as she continued to stroke Blake’s hair. “It just… It gives me a bad feeling.”

“As soon as I can, I will,” Blake replied, putting some force into her words, willing them to be true. Without thinking she nestled her head deeper into Yang’s shoulder and immediately, she was hit with a pang of embarrassment. As if to reassure her, Yang’s other arm tightened around her waist.

“If you need anything-- _ever_ \-- please tell me,” she said, in a tone more serious than Blake had ever heard her use. She was almost certain that she heard a hint of melody in Yang’s voice. “Come to these woods, and I’ll find you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Blake echoed.

Yang opened her mouth, as if she wanted to say something more, then thought better of it. She shook her head, and Blake lowered her gaze again, finding comfort in Yang’s warmth against her.

“I’ll always find you,” Yang repeated, a little more softly.

It was the same promise she’d made when they first met, and it had been a promise she’d kept.

It was a promise that Blake could believe in.


	5. Chapter 5

It was with a basket full of mushrooms and a splint on her wrist that Blake returned to the farm, walking alongside Yang until they reached the edge of Adam’s land. It had been a long walk, but pleasant. She still couldn’t get over how comfortable it was to walk through the forest, soothed by Yang’s steady presence.

“This is… probably it,” Blake said apologetically, bringing them to a stop at the edge of the trees. She didn’t want to bring their conversation to an end; it had been such a welcome distraction from their inevitable parting. “He wouldn’t be happy if I brought home a visitor right now.”

“I get it,” Yang said, giving Blake’s arm a reassuring squeeze before letting go. “Really.”

“I’m sorry,” Blake added, ears drooping.

“Don’t be.” Yang turned to face her, then took a small step forward, into her space. When Blake tilted her head up to her, their faces were so close that she could feel Yang’s breath against her. It sent goosebumps racing down her spine. “I understand. I don’t want to do anything that’ll put you in danger.”

“I wouldn’t call it _danger_ ,” Blake protested, but Yang gave a small, sad shake of her head.

“Regardless.” Yang took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “Just… be careful, Blake. I don’t trust anyone who could do that to someone.”

She reached her hand for Blake’s splinted one, brushing her thumb over the bandaging, and Blake automatically clasped Yang’s hand. Yang smiled.

“I hope to see you again soon,” she said. Blake managed a smile back.

“As soon as I can, I will.”

“Good.” Yang seemed to hesitate, then wrapped Blake into a full-bodied embrace. Blake returned it eagerly, pulling herself as close into Yang as she could, breathing in the comforting scent of herbs and tea. She nestled her face against Yang’s shoulder, and felt Yang’s hand cupping the back of her head.

It was a hug that lasted longer than it necessarily had to, but Yang seemed to want to prolong it as much as Blake did. She swayed a little, rocking Blake slightly. 

“If you ever need me,” Yang murmured, the tone in her ear making Blake shiver, “come back to the woods. As soon as I can sense you, I’ll find you. Day or night, anytime.”

“Okay,” Blake replied, still too caught up in the sensation of Yang’s fingers in her hair. She just wanted the hug to last one moment more.

She could _see_ a flicker of regret across Yang’s face when they finally broke apart. Did it mean something, Blake dared to think, that Yang hadn’t wanted to let her go?

“Take care of yourself, Blake,” Yang said, taking a step back. A breeze rippled through the forest, catching in her hair. “Until we meet again.”

“Goodbye,” Blake said. She turned slowly, unable to resist looking behind her as she left the forest and stumbled onto Adam’s farmland. Yang stood there so forlornly among the trees, her head cocked slightly as she watched Blake leave.

More than anything, Blake wished she could have just stayed in those woods.

“Any luck?” Adam grunted when she passed him on her way to the house. She nodded curtly, holding up her basket of mushrooms.

“Found a whole hoard of them,” she said. Adam’s smile was slow, but wide. 

“You really do have a knack for this,” he remarked. Blake shrugged; it had been Yang who’d led her to the right spots, where the mushrooms were most plentiful. He took the basket from her, blue eyes glancing down to her splinted wrist. “Since when have you started wearing that?”

“I put it on this morning,” Blake explained smoothly, touching the bandages with her other hand. Yang had secured it well, and she could almost feel Yang’s gentle touch there even now. “My wrist was bothering me.”

“Well, I hope giving it a break today helped.” He weighed the basket in his hand, and the motion caused a couple large mushrooms to spill over the side of it. He laughed. “We should dry these. It’s a good start for our winter cache. You did well, my love.”

Blake tolerated his one-armed hug, and the gruff kiss he left on the top of her head. Self-consciously, Blake shifted her body a little to look back toward the woods.

Yang still hovered just behind the treeline, and Blake had a feeling that the only reason she could see her at all was because she knew where to look. From afar, their gazes met, and Blake’s heart twisted. The expression on Yang’s face was too sad, too knowing. She nodded slowly at Blake, then stepped back, deeper into the trees, until Blake couldn’t see her at all.

\--

Days passed, and Blake was unable to return to the forest. Adam kept her busy around the farm, making her pull up the diseased potato plants and helping him harvest the winter squash. He reminded her, time and again, that it would be the squash that would get them through the winter instead of potatoes. They hadn’t planted squash as abundantly, but it was a starch that would help them survive the cold months.

“You see this?” Adam asked one morning, gesturing around the root cellar. Blake looked around, then nodded.

“Yes.”

“Do you see what’s wrong with it, Blake?” he asked, and Blake recognized the warfare in his deceptively calm voice. This was a time she needed to just play along, and pray that she wouldn’t be the whipping boy to his rage.

“I’m… not sure?”

Adam strode forward, arms stretching over an empty patch of ground. “It’s empty, Blake. That’s what’s wrong with it.”

“Oh,” she replied meekly. “I’m sorry.”

His slow huff sounded so similar to the snort of an aggravated animal; it wasn’t just his horns that made him seem so much like a bull.

“We should have _stacks_ of potatoes here,” he went on, making a show of surveying the vast, empty area. “But instead, all we have are _those_.”

He gestured again, at a couple crates of salvaged potatoes. It was nowhere near enough to last the winter. Her ears drooped.

“We’ll manage,” she said, imbuing her words with determined hope. “We can sell more wood if we have to, and if I pick up some odd jobs in town--”

“ _No_.”

His words were sharp and hard, and Blake flinched, taking an automatic step backwards toward the wall.

“We shouldn’t even be in this mess,” he growled. “This land was fine until _you_ brought this disease here.”

“That’s not fair, Adam,” Blake replied firmly. Maybe it was because of her recent talk with Yang, but Blake found her confidence and held it. “I didn’t bring the blight here.”

“Didn’t you?” He took a step forward, encroaching on her space. With her back to the wall, there was nowhere else to go. “Everything here was fine until you came here, with your… your city _diseases_ and lazy city _habits._ ”

“I’ve been doing my best. Same as you.” 

“You call _this_ your best?” he sneered, gesturing again to where the potatoes should have been. “You messed up so much of the planting this year because you were too _lazy_ to do it right. You under-watered the crops, you dragged _disease_ in from the city… you’ve been nothing but a burden to me, but I kept you on because _you_ wanted a simple life. Because I thought you could _learn_.”

“That’s not--” Blake began, but she was silenced when Adam slammed his forearm across her chest, pinning her to the wall. She gasped, her head knocking against the uneven stone wall. The stone was cold and rough against her back.

“You’re going to learn to be a farmer’s wife, Blake,” he said, his voice with deadly softness. “And you won’t do that by running away to town and working for other people. We’ll get through this mess _together_. You owe me this.”

He released her, and Blake’s hand flew to the back of her head. She hadn’t hit the wall hard, but it had jarred her skull.

Adam stormed out the door, slamming it behind him, leaving Blake in the dimly-lit room. Her eyes watered. It was good, at least, that he’d left her there; she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her tears.

\--

The days stretched on, each one feeling longer than the last. There was a cold shift in the air while the clouds hovered, low and grey. Winter was almost upon them, and every time those clouds thickened, Blake wondered if it might bring snow.

Was this how a banshee felt, always waiting for a change in the air?

It was always coldest before the snows fell, but Adam refused to keep the stove or fireplace burning for too long. They had to _ration_ their firewood, he liked to remind her, so Blake took to wearing layers, even in the house. Leggings underneath her skirt, two pairs of socks, a sweater and shawl, and she _still_ didn’t feel warm enough. Maybe she’d been lucky, growing up in a house with steady heat; now, it was like she was constantly cold.

But she held out; even at night, when she shivered under the blankets, she kept her distance from Adam. She wouldn’t rely on his body warmth.

The cold, sleepless hours did give her something else to dream about, though. There _was_ someone whose warmth she did enjoy, and whose warmth she longed for. She could almost imagine Yang’s heat against hers, the soft rubbing of hands on her back. She yearned to rest her head on Yang’s shoulder again, to breathe in the gentle smells of herbs and smoke. A part of her felt guilty, for wishing that she could curl up against Yang’s body like that, but when she was trembling with cold and sleep evaded her, she indulged in the luxury of those dreams.

She supposed it meant something, that it was always to Yang that her thoughts returned. That it was Yang who she wanted to touch, to hold, to be close to. Never in her life had her thoughts been so consumed by someone. When she’d decided to live with Adam, she’d only thought with her head; she’d seen him as potential, as someone she could have a future with. But Yang was more than that.

Somehow, Yang had ensnared both her head _and_ her heart.

It became a ritual that each morning, before Adam even rose from bed, Blake would wrap herself in her shawl and step outside, breathing in the cold, frosty air as she looked up at the nearby cliffs of Cnoc na Bumbóg.

“Good morning, Yang,” she’d murmur to the silent forest.

She liked to think that Yang could hear her.

\--

By the end of the week, the bruise on Blake’s face had faded enough for her to return to town without arousing suspicion. When Adam handed her coins for shopping, dropped one by one into her palm, Blake suppressed a sigh of relief. Even with a splinted wrist, Adam had kept her busy with work, so being able to return to town was almost like a break. It was a break, she hoped, that would help set her free.

After a lot of thought, she’d decided to forgo buying tea completely. Adam wasn’t much of a tea drinker, and Blake had enough tea left at the house to satisfy his rare cupfuls. Not buying tea would give her some extra money to hide away, and going without tea for a little while was worth the inconvenience.

She’d also made the hard decision to sell her mother’s earrings, which were the only pieces of jewelry she’d brought to White Fang. The simple studs were gold, each set with a diamond, and though they were small, the money they could bring in would go a long way toward getting away from Adam. She’d really only kept them for sentimental value, but she could buy more earrings later in her life; surely her mother would understand why she needed to sell them.

“It’s wonderful to see you, Miss Belladonna,” Oobleck said as Blake packed up her goods. “I was wondering where you’d gotten off to! It was a surprise, seeing your fiancé here last week instead of you.”

“He’s not my fiancé,” she replied coolly.

“Right, right,” Oobleck said, bobbing his head. “My mistake.”

“Anyway…” Blake paused, then stripped off her right glove to reach into her coin pouch. For her trip to town, she’d made sure to cover her splint with a glove and her sweater sleeve, but she would need her fingers to pull out the earrings. “I need to sell these,” she said, dropping the earrings on the counter. “How much can I get for them?”

As they bickered over the price, Blake kept one ear cocked for the other patrons of the store. Though she doubted anyone would take notice of the fact that she was selling something, it would be disastrous if word of this got back to Adam. If he found out that she was hoarding money, even from selling something that was rightfully hers, it wouldn’t be pleasant.

In the end, she didn’t get anywhere near the price she was looking for, so she was forced to settle. This was the countryside, Oobleck reminded her. People didn’t wear jewelry out here, so even the finest earrings wouldn’t be worth as much as they would be in the city. Blake still pocketed the coins he offered for them, but she couldn’t help feeling a little cheated as she left the store.

Everything was working against her, she thought dismally. Maybe she _was_ trapped in White Fang.

The grey clouds seemed to reflect her own glum mood as she left the store. She didn’t like to think about what might happen if she couldn’t get out of White Fang before the planting season. If they didn’t starve or freeze that winter, she would be forced to help Adam with the planting. She knew at some point, he would try to marry her. What would happen when she refused the offer? Would he let her leave? Would he even let her refuse?

Her heart sank lower, and she looked up instinctively at the looming cliffs of Cnoc na Bumbóg, like it might offer her solace.

“Blake!”

Blake’s ears perked up, hoping for one wild moment that it might have been Yang, but she knew immediately that the voice was wrong. She tried not to let her disappointment show as she turned to face Ilia.

“Hey there,” she said, forcing a smile.

Ilia looked cheerful, even with her cheeks flushed with cold. She bounded over to Blake, basket looped over her arm.

“It’s so good to see you!” Ilia said, bouncing a little on her feet. “How are you?”

“Good! You?”

“Oh, you know. Not much changes around here.” She laughed. “It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve seen you. Sun was just asking about you the other day, too, you know.”

“Oh… right.” Blake felt a stab of guilt; she’d been neglecting her friendship with Sun. Adam had grown increasingly jealous of her easy friendship with him, and her frequent visits to his own farm that summer. He made it no secret that he saw Sun as a threat. It was for her own safety, and for Sun’s, that she had scaled back on their visits. “How is he?”

“He’s good! I’m going to his place tomorrow to help out with some last-minute fence mending, though. He kept putting it off.” Ilia rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “We could use the help, if you’re free.”

“I’m not,” Blake said, sighing. “We’ve still got so much to do before it starts snowing. We’ve still got potato plants in the ground we need to pull up.”

“This blight really made a mess of the valley,” Ilia remarked sympathetically. “I know Sun had a bad time with his crop, too, but at least he has connections over in Vacuo, and he’s working out a trade with some of the farmers there.”

“Lucky him.” Blake didn’t mean to sound so bitter, and she was disgusted by her own tone. Ilia’s brow furrowed.

“Are you going to be okay this winter?” she asked. “I heard Adam was selling off more firewood. Will you have enough to get by?”

“We’ll be fine,” Blake replied, as if her world wasn’t consumed by cold already. “We’ll have to stretch our wood a little, but we’ll make do.”

“It can get pretty cold out here, and snowy,” Ilia warned. “It's enough to kill people from time to time.”

“For people who go outside, maybe,” Blake corrected. “But I can always go inside and keep warm.”

“I guess.” Ilia bit her lip. “I’m just worried about you, Blake. Sun’s worried, too. We…” Ilia looked around quickly, her ponytail bobbing. She lowered her voice. “Adam just doesn’t seem to have the best judgement, you know? And with the way he treats you sometimes--”

“Ilia,” Blake warned.

“We just… want to make sure you’re okay. For this winter.” The spots on Ilia’s face flushed into a bright pink. “If things get too cold, or if you just need somewhere else to be… my door is always open.”

For a few beautiful seconds, Blake considered accepting. It would mean she could leave Adam’s farm, and not have to constantly censor her words and actions around him. Ilia had the resources to live comfortably through the winter, and working for her would be a lot easier than working for Adam. She wouldn’t be hungry, or cold, or hurt.

Then she shifted her splinted arm, feeling its bandage move against her glove. Adam knew where Ilia lived; it would be so easy for him to find her. There was no telling what he would do to Blake when he did, and she wouldn’t put it past him to hurt Ilia, as well. This was something that Blake’s conscience couldn’t fathom.

She could get through a few months, she told herself. Just a few more months, and she’d be able to leave in the spring, and no one else would have to get hurt.

“Thank you,” she said gently. “But it’ll all work out.”

“Okay…” Ilia didn’t seem to buy it, but she didn’t push the issue. “Just know that Sun and I are here for you, all right?”

Blake reached out for Ilia’s hand, then gave it a grateful squeeze. “Thanks, Ilia.”

At the touch, the rest of Ilia’s body brightened into a delicate, embarrassed shade of pink, the spots on her face deepening into a red color. “That’s… that’s what friends are for, right?”

“Yeah.” Blake laughed a little, then released Ilia’s hand. “You and Sun are some of the best I’ve got right now.”

“It’s hard, when we don’t see much of you,” Ilia chided gently. “Maybe we could all get together for dinner sometime.”

“Maybe once things on the farm settle down a bit.” She couldn’t admit that Adam had essentially banned her from visits; she was pushing it, just by talking to Ilia in town like this. “Because I’ve missed you guys, too. Please tell Sun I said hi.”

“Of course!” Ilia’s skin tone darkened back to its typical shade as her embarrassment waned. “And I know he’ll say it right back.”

Due to Blake’s restriction on visits with friends, she couldn’t afford to chat with Ilia long. She did, however, stay long enough to listen to Ilia talk about her own life a little bit. It was so refreshingly quiet, and normal, to hear about the day-to-day events on a farm that wasn’t Adam’s. _This_ was how farm life was supposed to be, she thought. _This_ was the kind of life she thought she’d live when Adam had invited her to White Fang. Even if there was a blight, there were still things Ilia found joy in: the large, fleshy pumpkins she used to make pies, the breeding of her sheep and the promise of spring lambs, her knitting projects that she planned to keep busy with through the winter.

These little scraps of joy were absent from Adam’s farm, and Blake felt that absence like a stone in her stomach.

After Blake promised to visit as soon as she could, they bid each other farewell. Blake put on a smile as she gave Ilia a wave, though she lost it as soon as her back was turned. With her friend gone, there was little left to smile about.

Though, there _were_ the coins weighing in her coin pouch. When she was back on the road,, she stopped to pull them out, only leaving a single, small coin behind to keep Adam from getting too suspicious. She tucked her saved coins into her handkerchief to keep them out of sight. Later, she’d be able to sneak them into Yang’s sock, where she’d started stashing her other coins.

The golden color of Yang’s socks had seemed like such a hopeful hue; it felt right, to hide her own hope for the future inside of them.

\--

Her heart lightened a few days later, when she was finally able to return to the forest. It was easier to _breathe_ in the woods, like a load had been lifted off her chest. Returning to Cnoc na Bumbóg was like returning home. The very trees seemed to welcome her, and Blake even smiled as she strode deeper.

And to think, she thought smugly, the villagers still considered the deep forest to be _cursed_.

It was cold enough to see her breath in the air, hanging like smoke, and Blake pulled her shawl high to wrap it around her neck. It would’ve been smarter to bring a scarf, she thought regretfully. She’d remember next time.

 _Next time_. She smiled to herself. She liked the idea of _next times_ when it came to Yang.

“Blake.”

Blake tried to hold back her smile as Yang stepped out from the trees, but her smile was so automatic and wide that it was difficult to restrain. Likewise, Yang wore a bright smile of her own, lighting up her face and crinkling her eyes.

“I see you found me again,” Blake commented. Yang’s eyes glittered.

“I’ll always find you,” she replied, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. And maybe for Yang, it was. Blake stepped forward, closing the gap between them to wrap Yang in an embrace. She felt Yang’s arms slip around her waist, and Blake sighed with relaxation. 

“I missed you,” she said quietly. Yang’s fingers drew up her back, under her shawl, fingernails dragging over her blouse.

“I missed you, too,” Yang murmured.

How was it, Blake thought as she rested her head on Yang’s shoulder, that the tumult of her own life seemed a lot less scary in Yang’s arms?

“How’s your hand?” Yang asked when they parted. She looked Blake up and down, as if assessing for damage, a move that Blake found both sweet and embarrassing.

“It’s doing a lot better,” she replied, holding up her hand. She’d taken the splint off that morning, and found that she was able to rotate her hand without too much pain. She had a feeling that any sharp, sudden movements would still hurt, but a splint was no longer necessary.

“You sure?” Yang took her hand, running a thumb over her wrist. Eyes searching Blake’s for permission, she held Blake’s wrist up, closer to her eyes to examine. There was still a little bit of a bruise, mottling her wrist with yellow and green, but it was obvious that she was healing.

“Yeah,” Blake said, mouth dry, shivering slightly at Yang’s soft exhales on her wrist. She brushed her thumb over Blake’s pulse point, pressing just hard enough that she’d be able to feel it flutter. Yang closed her eyes, at ease, as if the feeling of Blake’s heartbeat was reassurance in itself.

“Good,” she murmured. She hesitated, then brought Blake’s wrist to her lips, pressing a tender kiss over her pulse, eyes never leaving Blake’s.

Blake’s stomach felt a strong flutter of a different kind, and she felt the heat of blood rushing to her face. She sucked in a breath. She was struck by how badly she wanted Yang’s lips to hold there. Could Yang feel the way her pulse had quickened? She hardly dared move, even when Yang lowered her hand back down, letting go of it with a small smile.

“I can’t tell you how relieved I am,” Yang admitted, her cheeks pink. “To see you. That… you’re okay.”

“I am,” Blake replied, her heart still pounding hard, ears still perked high on her head. Then, before she could talk herself out of her own words, she added, “But I’m better now. That I’m here.”

For all the cheesiness of her words, she was glad she said them; Yang’s smile bloomed wider, her blush deepening.

“Would you, ah… like some tea?” Yang asked, suddenly flustered. Blake resisted the urge to giggle.

“I’d love some.” She held her arm out, and Yang immediately threaded her own through.

The walk was short, as it always was. Blake tried to notice a shifting in the trees around her, or the ground beneath her feet, but it didn’t _feel_ like they were walking any faster through the woods. It all felt too normal, too easy.

“I still don’t get it,” she complained, looking up at the mountainside. She could _almost_ see the difference in angles, that they were in a different spot on Cnoc na Bumbóg than they’d started, but even that was hard to tell through the trees. “I feel like I’d be able to notice the trees changing, or something.”

“The trees can be pretty flexible,” Yang replied cheerfully as they stepped onto her farmland. “As much as a tree can be, anyway.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t think about it too hard.” Yang’s laugh rang out, so much like a bell. Near her cottage, one of her goats looked up at them lazily. “Some things just can’t be explained, and you’ll be much happier when you accept life’s mysteries for what they are.”

“I’ll… try.” Despite her skepticism of Yang’s lackluster answer, Blake still smiled. For some reason, it was freeing, to let go of the burden of concrete answers. Even if she didn’t know everything, being ignorant with Yang was so much more satisfying than living a grim truth with Adam.

This time, she kept her boots on as they walked across Yang’s land. While a part of her was still afraid of tracking the blight across the farm, Yang didn’t seem bothered at all. Recalling her confidence when she’d told Blake that she didn’t cause the blight, Blake held onto her resolve and kept her boots on until they entered the cottage.

It was almost miraculous, how warm Yang’s house was. Blake shivered at the delightful feeling. She’d gotten so used to being cold that being able to take off her shawl in the house was almost strange to her. She pulled off both her shawl and her outer sweater, then drew in a mouth-watering inhale at whatever Yang had cooking on her stove.

“What’re you cooking?” she asked, stepping closer to the stove to take a look..

“Lunch!” Yang replied, kicking her shoes off and bounding over toward the stove. Blake followed, leaning over her shoulder to get a better look at what was inside. “I made a lamb stew.”

“It smells amazing.” 

“You want any?”

Blake licked her lips. She hadn’t known what her lunch would be that day, and she hadn’t wanted to presume that Yang would make her anything. Her sandwich, made with less-than-perfect bread and a messily-fried egg, looked terrible in comparison to the thick stew on Yang’s stove.

“I brought a sandwich,” she said sheepishly. She went back to her basket, which she’d set on the floor, and pulled out the sandwich she’d wrapped in a handkerchief. Yang grabbed a couple bowls from one of her shelves, then came over to inspect Blake’s sandwich. She made a face.

“That looks, uh…” Yang paused. “I’ll get you some stew.”

“Thank you.” Blake could feel herself blushing again, and her ears pinned back. “I’m… not much of a cook.”

“Did you make that bread yourself?” Yang gave the bread a poke. The bread hadn’t risen very high, and it was quite dense.

“Yeah…” Blake’s cheeks grew hotter. “I never baked my own bread until I moved out here.”

“Did you just not eat bread in the city?” Yang asked, clearly suppressing a smile.

“We bought it from the bakery, like everyone else!”

Yang couldn’t seem to resist the urge to laugh anymore; she burst with it, though at least she was kind enough to cover her mouth. “I’m sorry!” she gasped out. “But… sweetheart, did you let your loaf rise at _all_?”

“I did!” Blake replied defensively, though Yang’s laughter was contagious enough to make Blake let out a small giggle of her own. “It just… it didn’t rise!”

“It looks like a brick,” Yang said, though not unkindly. “Did you use warm water for the yeast?”

“What?”

“Warm water,” Yang repeated. Her eyes twinkled. “Letting the dough rise in a warm area helps it, too.”

“Oh.” Blake poked her sandwich, biting her lip as Yang moved back to the stove. “I didn’t know. I've just been doing what the recipe says. I mean, I had a friend offer to teach me, but it’s… been a little difficult, lately. To see anyone.”

“I see.” Yang looked back at Blake, gaze softening. “Well, I’m glad you’re able to visit me, at least.”

“Me too. It’s always… good. To get away for a little bit.”

“Anytime you need it,” Yang replied warmly, “you’re welcome here.” 

She returned to the table, setting down the bowls of stew, and Blake hoped that Yang couldn’t hear the rumbling of her stomach. “I love having you visit me. It’s… gotten lonely, over the years. The only people who visited me before were my family, and the occasional family friend. So it’s… nice. Having you.”

Blake frowned. Why did Yang insist on living alone, then, if she missed being around people? She opened her mouth to ask that very thing, but Yang cut her off.

“Oh, and speaking of family…” Yang flushed slightly, giving Blake an embarrassed sort of smile before turning back to her kitchen. “My sister is due for a visit soon. She always comes by before the solstices, and with the winter one coming up…”

“Did you… need to take a break from my visits? While she’s here?” Blake asked, suddenly worried. If Yang needed space for her sister’s visit…

But Yang’s cheeks burned redder, her freckles clashing with the color. “Actually… I was hoping that you’d want to meet her. I mean, if you don’t want to… if it makes you uncomfortable or anything--”

“No!” Blake said quickly, her face feeling hotter than the stew in front of her. “I mean, yes. I’d love to meet your sister!”

“You would?” Yang beamed.

“Of course I would,” Blake said with a small laugh. “I’d love to meet any part of your family. I’m… honored you’d want me to.”

She took a spoonful of the stew, blowing on it slightly. This wasn’t like the scrimpy meals she made at home; it was thick with potatoes, carrots, and mushrooms, as well as tender chunks of lamb. Blake couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten anything so hearty.

“It’s not a special visit or anything,” Yang said hastily, keeping busy with her back turned to Blake. But she had her hair tucked behind her ear, and Blake could see how red her ear was. “Ruby brings me things I can’t make on my own here-- she keeps me supplied. But it’s always so nice to see her. I miss her.”

She came back to the table, setting a cutting board down with a crusty loaf of bread. It was much taller, and fluffier, than the stunted loaves Blake was used to baking. She took a slice, already imagining how good it would taste when dipped into the stew.

“Why doesn’t she live here with you?” she asked, truly curious. “I’d think it would make mountainside living a little less lonely.”

“She’s got her own life in Patch,” Yang replied, stirring her stew absently. “And…it’s for the best, that she just visits now and then. It’s... better for banshees to live on their own.”

“What makes you say that?”

“It’s…” Yang paused, her spoon frozen mid-stir. “It’s just better.”

“But you said yourself that there’s nothing dangerous about banshees,” Blake reminded her. Yang nodded, still not looking at her. Blake hesitated, then went on. “If it’s something you don’t want to talk about, you don’t have to.”

For a moment, Yang said nothing. She ate a spoonful of the stew, brows furrowed with thought. She swallowed, then sighed.

“I don’t mind telling you,” she said softly, looking back up at Blake. She paused again. “Just… try to imagine for a moment, what it might be like. Knowing that when you feel that change on the wind, it’ll mean someone is about to die.”

“It must be very sobering, to be such a bearer of bad news.”

“It is.” Yang tilted her head, meeting Blake’s eyes. “Now imagine that you’re surrounded by people you love. And that, one day, you sing a song, and it ends with the death of one of those people you love.” Yang bit her lip, almost imperceptibly. “You can tell yourself it isn’t your fault, and that you didn’t _cause_ the death, or-- or it was a freak accident that would’ve happened anyway… but you still can’t help but feel responsible for that death.”

Blake held her gaze, expression softening at the faint shimmer in Yang’s eyes.

“Who was it?” she asked gently.

“My mom,” Yang replied, her voice cracking. And then, she laughed weakly, dabbing one eye on the back of her hand. “Sorry. I try not to think about this much.”

Blake reached her hand across the table, which Yang took. She had a strong urge to stand up completely, to walk around the table and give Yang a hug, but she resisted the urge. That would have been awkward, she told herself, though she longed to give comfort.

“Would it do any good, if I reminded you it wasn’t your fault?” she asked, giving Yang a sad smile. One side of Yang’s mouth quirked slightly in an attempted smile.

“It’s always nice to hear it.” Yang cast her eyes down, looking at their grasped hands. Automatically, Blake looked down, too, to stare at their small, soothing connection. Yang gave her hand a squeeze.

A comfortable silence fell between them, Blake’s body felt a surge of warmth that had nothing to do with the stew.

“After going through something like that…” Blake said at last, eyes never leaving their hands. “I’m glad you’re still so willing to let me visit. That you still see me.”

“A part of it might be the song around you,” Yang admitted. “It’s just… so interesting to me. But it isn’t even just that.” She paused. “I’ve lived on my own for years. And having someone-- having _you_ \-- to talk to… It’s like…” She frowned in thought, then brightened. “It’s like when you’ve been out in the cold for too long. That when you’re finally in front of a fire, all you want to do is stick your hands as close to it as you can, even knowing it could burn you.”

One of Blake’s ears cocked, but she nodded; a part of her was hypnotized by the way Yang’s thumb continued to stroke her hand.

“And… I think that’s how I feel when I’m with you.” As she said this, Yang blushed, but did not look away. “You’re like my fire, Blake.”

Yang leaned forward and reached her free hand forward; her arm was long, just long enough to cup Blake’s cheek in her hand. Blake sighed, tipping her head into it and covering Yang’s hand with her own.

“Even if I burn…” Yang murmured. “You’re worth it.”

Blake was burning, too. She could feel it in her blood, heating her face and roaring in her ears. It warmed her whole body, kindling in her stomach, down her limbs, to the tips of her fingers. That heat also made the air feel thick, as like the walls were closing in around them, pushing them closer, and Blake found that she didn’t want to fight it.

She rose from her seat, mind and heart blazing. Maybe _this_ was what a banshee felt right before a song, when they felt change in the air. That uncontrolled fire, the inevitability, the need? Blake shoved her bowl out of the way, leaning as far forward as she could. There was fire, too, in Yang’s eyes, and she caught a glimpse of it in the short seconds before their lips met.

Yang made a pleased-sounding hum as they kissed, and Blake could feel its powerful note reverberate through her body, shivering in waves down her back. Blindly, she grasped for Yang’s shoulder, sinking into the kiss. No, she realized, this wasn’t what a banshee felt right before a song.

This was what it felt like to _sing_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God this chapter gave me so much trouble. If any of y'all meet my beta readers, please buy them a milkshake, they deserve it.
> 
> Also, the WONDERFUL [erughostcat](https://erughostcat.tumblr.com/) made [some beautiful art](https://erughostcat.tumblr.com/post/616964471635705856/when-i-said-earlier-that-you-make-me-want-to) of this fic... It's absolutely incredible, thank you so much!!
> 
> Also, the incredible [monochrome-gay](https://monochrome-gay.tumblr.com/) made [a BEAUTIFUL comic from the beginning of this chapter and it's SO GOOD and I'm crying.](https://monochrome-gay.tumblr.com/post/633056260047126528/)


	6. Chapter 6

Time had frozen around them as their lips held together, released, and returned to each other. It was like light was pooling into Blake's body, both putting her at ease and making her feel dizzy with contentment. She could have sworn she’d never felt lips as soft as Yang’s, felt breath that was so much like a caress. Their kiss fell into a calm, steadying rhythm, and Blake had never felt such relief. After the chill she’d felt these past few weeks, it felt so nice to be warm again.

Yang’s fingers combed through her hair, gently urging her closer, and Blake leaned in eagerly. The angle over the table was awkward, and she was vaguely aware of an ache in her back from the strain, but she ignored it in favor of this delicate, sweet kiss.

Against her lips, she felt the occasional thrum of vibration; even as they kissed, Yang was _humming_. From anyone else, it would have annoyed Blake, but coming from Yang, she felt something alluring in its timbre. In her mind's eye and with the hum as its backdrop, she could practically see herself _living_ in these woods, alight with sunshine and the surrounding greenery of springtime, falling into Yang’s arms with the delighted knowledge that she was _happy_. As Yang hummed, it almost felt real.

This was _their_ song, she thought with wonder and a surge of certainty. This was _theirs_.

It was Yang who broke the kiss, pulling back with a regretful, lingering gaze. Blake gasped, automatically licking her lips, not wanting to lose Yang’s taste or the beautiful vision that had filled her head.

But reality had to resume.

Trying to roll out the crick in her neck, Blake slumped back into her seat, eyes never leaving Yang’s, and for a moment, the two stared at each other. Now that she was getting a good look, she could see that Yang’s usually-placid lilac eyes now burned red.

“I’m--” Blake began, but hesitated. What was she supposed to say? She couldn’t remember ever kissing someone so boldly, but she’d done just that with Yang. Cold returned quickly, striking through her body; what if, she thought stupidly, this wasn’t what Yang had wanted? What if she had misread the situation somehow? Maybe Yang hadn’t meant anything romantic by her words. Maybe she hadn’t--

“ _Gods_ ,” Yang murmured, shivering visibly. Blake’s heart fell.

“I’m so-- so sorry,” she stammered, covering her eyes with her hand. Her ears dropped. “If I overstepped--”

“Wh-- Why are you apologizing?” Yang asked. Blake peeked through her fingers in time to see her shiver again.

“What is it?” Blake asked worriedly. “Did I do something?”

“No! Well, yes… but it’s not a bad thing.” Yang shook her head, an almost spasmodic gesture. “It’s just… _gods_ , Blake. It’s like… it’s _rippling_. All around you.”

Yang’s voice cracked on her last words, and her hands shook. Blake bit her lip, then reached out for one of them. Yang’s hand twitched, tightening around Blake’s.

“What is?” Blake asked softly.

“The _song_.” Yang closed her eyes, then took a deep breath. Her shoulders shuddered, then slumped, and when she opened her eyes, they were lilac once more. “Can I see your other hand?”

Quizzically, Blake stretched out her other hand across the table. Yang pulled it closer, eyes darting between both of them, brushing her thumbs across Blake’s fingers. With a jittery, almost nervous sort of motion, she ran her own calloused hands up and down Blake’s forearms. It was Blake’s turn to shiver, feeling goosebumps form under Yang’s hands as they slid across her skin.

“It’s so strange,” Yang murmured, almost to herself.

“What is?”

“The song,” Yang repeated, frowning slightly, continuing to run her hands along Blake’s arms. It was like she was studying Blake’s dark skin, as if she could see a song clinging to it. “It was… so _strong_ just now. Like a crescendo. So overwhelming. And now it’s… it’s the same as it was before.”

“Oh,” Blake replied, surprised by her own disappointment as Yang’s hands fell away. She missed the touch already.

Awkwardly, Blake pulled her bowl of stew back in front of her. It was still warm, but no longer quite so hot. She took a slow spoonful, eyes averted, now feeling embarrassed. After a kiss like that, this no longer felt like a normal lunch. What was she supposed to say now? Was she just supposed to eat like nothing had happened?

“I’ve just never felt it quite like this before,” Yang mused, leaning back, not touching her own bowl. When Blake looked up again, Yang was still watching her. “How you were able to just… _ripple_ like that.”

“Was that… weird for you?” Blake asked, unsure. Should she apologize again? But then Yang smirked, sitting back comfortably in her chair, eyes twinkling.

“On the contrary,” she replied, then lowered her voice. “I’d actually like to find out what _else_ can make you ripple.”

\--

After lunch, they sat on one of Yang’s sheepskin-covered benches, simply kissing, touching, and being _close_. It was so wonderfully different, kissing Yang. It was slow, and careful, but at the same time, there was a spark of heat in it that Blake felt with her whole body. She felt _giddy_ , for the first time in years, or maybe for the first time in her whole life.

And it was all for Yang.

“Do you still feel the song?” Blake asked when they broke apart for a moment, their faces only a breath away, their lips swollen from kisses.

Yang smiled, casually curling a finger through a strand of Blake’s black hair.

“I feel a lot of things,” she murmured. “And you’re the one who makes me feel all of them.”

\--

Walking through the woods with Yang was always relaxing, but it felt more so now, when each pump of Blake’s heart felt slow and full. The chill in the air meant nothing when she felt so warm inside. Not to mention walking beside Yang was like walking beside a fire; her body heat was naturally high, and Blake took advantage of that fact by huddling close to her as they walked.

Together, it took very little time to fill Blake’s basket with mushrooms. She suspected that Yang’s connection with the forest had to do with their easy foraging, but she wasn’t sure how. Yang only insisted she had a good eye for it, and that she knew the ins and outs of the forest like the back of her own hand.

“If you stick with me, you’ll learn it, too,” Yang told her teasingly. She caught Blake’s chin, bringing her in for a quick kiss. She smiled, then stroked Blake’s chin with her thumb before turning away.

And it was so _nice_ to share these casual kisses. Every time they stopped, either she or Yang would lean in for one, as if to remind themselves that what had happened between them was _real_ , that they weren’t just dreaming, that they were allowed to enjoy each other in this way. And each time, Blake’s eyelids would flutter and she’d instinctively sink closer into Yang’s frame.

She’d never known a kiss to fill her with such ease.

“I was never a fan of mushrooms when I lived in the city,” Blake confessed as Yang set another couple mushrooms in her basket. “And even now, I still don’t think I cook them right. But in that stew you made, they were very good.”

“It’s all about how they’re prepared,” Yang said cheerfully. “Which goes for most things, I’m sure.”

“Like bread?” Blake asked with a snort, and Yang laughed, the sound ringing in the air around them.

“One of these days, I’ll teach you how to bake bread properly,” Yang promised, eyes dancing. “And _maybe_ you’ll get a loaf that won’t give someone a concussion if you throw it at someone’s head!”

“Hey!” Blake giggled, despite her consternation. “It wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“Right, right.” Still grinning, Yang lowered her head, strands of golden hair falling around Blake’s face as she kissed the tip of Blake’s nose. The kiss made Blake’s stomach flutter. “Not _quite_ a concussion, then. Just almost. Though, I’m curious to see how your mushrooms come out.”

“Maybe I’ll cook for you sometime,” Blake replied, but at Yang’s raised eyebrows, she sighed. “Or maybe not. I’m not a very good cook.”

“But that means I get to teach you!” Yang straightened and stepped away with a flourish, her hair bouncing. “Although...” She looked up at the sky thoughtfully. “We might not get much of a chance to practice many recipes with mushrooms now. Once the snow falls…”

“Oh.” Blake’s smile faded slightly at the implication, ears drooping. Yang turned back, and seeing Blake’s expression, frowned with concern.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. Blake shook her head slowly.

“Nothing’s _wrong_ …” She paused. “It’s just… the only reason I can come to these woods is because I forage for food. If I can’t harvest mushrooms anymore… I don’t know if I’ll be able to come back here as often as I do now.” 

“You can’t just take walks out here?”

“No.” Blake shook her head again. “Adam only wants me to do things that are productive for the farm. Gathering mushrooms, at least, helps provide a little food. Without that…”

“I see.” Yang’s frown deepened. “So you can’t really get time to yourself?”

“Not really.” Blake bit her lip, looking away from Yang to stare through the trees instead. “I’m actually surprised that I can get away with full days out here. But he thinks I’m good at foraging, or something.”

She felt a light touch on her arm. She looked down at it, already comforted by the gentle pressure of Yang’s hand.

“Well, there are other things that the forest can provide,” Yang said evenly. She paused. “Do you know how to fish?”

“What?”

“Fishing,” Yang repeated. “Like… with fishing poles.”

“No…” Blake frowned. While her family loved fish, they were all city people at heart; with all the fishmongers in town, there was no need to go fishing themselves.

“I can teach you,” Yang replied, and she sounded so excited, her optimism so contagious, that Blake’s ears began to perk back up. “There’s a pond not too far from my house--”

“Well, when you use your magic speed-walking thing, _nothing_ is too far from your house.”

“Hush,” Yang said, giving Blake’s side a poke, and Blake laughed. “ _Anyway_ … I can teach you to fish! And then you’ll have a good reason to come back!”

“Isn’t it, like… the wrong time of year to fish, though?” Blake asked skeptically. “The ponds and streams are already starting to freeze.”

“Not necessarily!” Yang beamed. “Have you ever heard of icefishing?”

“Icefishing?” Blake repeated. Somehow, that didn’t seem like a warm, comfortable activity. But Yang was already nodding eagerly.

“I’m very good at it,” she said, a hint of smugness in her voice. “But until the ice is thick enough, I know of a stream that we can go to. And I’ll always make sure you go home with enough fish to make it worth his while.”

“I don’t know…” Blake bit her lip. She had a feeling Adam wouldn’t be pleased that she’d hidden a useful skill from him, but lacking any alternatives, this was the best chance she’d get to see Yang in the winter. She made herself smile, despite her worries, and went for a lighter tone. “I’ve never been good with cold, and icefishing sounds like a pretty cold thing to do.”

“But sitting out on the ice is so _relaxing_!” Yang replied earnestly. “When it’s just you and the ice, and the world all around you is quiet and peaceful… I have a feeling you’ll like it.” She paused, then grinned. “Besides, if you ever get too cold, I can just warm you back up.”

Blake raised an eyebrow, and Yang blushed.

“Not in a-- a suggestive way, or anything,” she added quickly with a short, stuttery giggle. “I just meant… I’ll make you tea! And… I have lots of blankets, and--”

“I get it,” Blake replied, laughing again. She paused, letting a quiet smile curl. “I think… as long as I get to be in your arms, I’ll be warm. Wherever we are.”

Her cheeks flared with heat at her words-- a part of her felt so silly for saying them-- but Yang’s face was so gentle as she looked down at Blake. She wrapped those arms around Blake, pulling her closer, and they _were_ warm.

“Then I’ll make sure to hold you whenever you get cold,” she murmured as Blake nestled her face into the crook of her neck. “Every time. I promise.”

“Good,” Blake breathed. At the word, Yang shivered, perhaps from the sensitivity of Blake’s breath on her skin, or perhaps from a song that Blake couldn’t hear. Either way, she liked the effect it had on Yang. “I’ll count on you, then, when my fingers start freezing from holding the fishing pole.”

“Gloves are a thing, too, you know.”

“I know,” Blake said, unable to keep her smile from spreading. “But who needs gloves when I’ve got you?”

Yang laughed again, and then, without warning, she lifted Blake off the ground, twirling them both in a circle. Blake’s gasp sounded more like a squeal to her own ears, and she clutched tighter to Yang as her feet swung loose, kicking up some of the dead leaves on the ground.

Even long after her feet touched back down, Blake still felt like she was spinning. Or maybe she’d been feeling that way since they first kissed, or even since they’d first met. It was the best kind of dizziness, a rushing wave of freedom and elation that she couldn’t remember feeling in her whole life.

_This_ was what she’d been longing for when she’d left the city. The simple joy in being herself, and being _alive_. And it was a feeling Blake held onto, even as they made their way back toward Adam’s farm. No one had the power to take this feeling, this strength, from her. Not even him.

Just out of sight of Adam’s fields, Blake and Yang pulled each other into a final embrace. Blake closed her eyes, determined to hold onto the memory of this hug as hard as she could.

“Will you be okay?” Yang asked softly into her hair.

Blake gave a hard nod, breaking just enough away from Yang in order to look up into her eyes. Now that reality was setting back in, it seemed that worry had returned, too.

To reassure her, Blake took Yang’s face in her hands. She flattened her palms against the smooth skin of Yang’s cheeks, then tilted her head as she met Yang’s eyes.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, imbuing her words with this surge of newfound strength. She leaned in, pushing herself up on her toes a little to give Yang a soft kiss. “ _Really_. And I’ll be back as soon as I can, so you can see for yourself.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Yang replied, lips curving in a smile. Blake ran her thumb along its crease, then kissed her again.

It felt good to let the kiss linger, feeling the soft puffs of Yang’s breath against her. She didn’t know when she’d feel these lips again, and the uncertainty made her only want to hold onto them longer. Maybe, if she was lucky, the moment would meld into eternity, and she would never have to feel anything else.

But it didn’t, and Blake had to let go.

“Soon,” Blake said, taking a step back, all-too-aware of the crack in her voice as she said that word.

“Soon,” Yang echoed, eyes never leaving Blake’s.

Blake took several more steps back, not wanting to break their eye contact; breaking it would mean the moment was truly over, that reality was slipping back in, that she once more had to rip herself away from the forest. She didn’t want to lose the beautiful illusion of the afternoon she’d spent with Yang. She’d already lost so much of herself on Adam’s farm, and a part of her feared that she’d lose this feeling, too. 

She stepped through the trees and onto the farmland, only looking down to make sure she wouldn’t trip on a fallen branch. When she was safely on the grass, she looked back up at Yang. Her heart swelled.

Of course her fears were unfounded. What she felt for Yang was too strong to fade that easily.

It wasn’t love, she told herself. But just thinking of the word, of the possibilities it contained, made a smile spread across her face. It wasn’t love… but maybe it _could_ be.

Seeing her smile, Yang lit up with one of her own.

“Take care, Blake,” she said softly. Blake gave her the slightest of nods, her smile never fading.

“You’ll find me,” she replied. She saw a spark in Yang’s eyes.

“I will,” Yang swore. It reminded Blake so much of Yang’s first promise to her, that she would find her in these woods, and those words were like a song in itself.

Still smiling, Blake finally turned away.

\--

For days after, thoughts of Yang filled her head, and it was those thoughts that kept her warm. Yang, with her soft lips. Yang, with her glittering purple eyes. Yang, with a laugh that struck a chord deep in Blake’s heart. Thinking of her, Blake’s mornings always felt a little bit brighter, a little more tolerable. Her daydreams lifted her spirits even during her tedious, cautious work on the farm, and her joy in them was something not even Adam could take from her.

The days were long and cold, and Blake found it difficult to find warmth in everyday life. Each day, she would rise from bed and immediately pull on as many layers as she could. Sweaters, leggings, skirts. She’d open her dresser and pull out two separate pairs of socks. Yang’s soft golden ones stayed rolled up in the corner of the drawer, a bright bundle amid the drab grays and browns.

Every time she opened that drawer, she’d brush her fingers over the wool and close her eyes, imagining that it was Yang she was touching instead. No matter how cold it was, simply picturing that touch made warmth flood into her stomach and spread in pleasant tendrils down her limbs. Her heart ached to see Yang again, but for now, all she had of her was this pair of socks.

And the socks were important in their own right. Whenever she was alone, whenever she dared, Blake would carefully unroll them, to glimpse at the coins she’d hidden inside, to remind herself that they were still there. After selling her earrings, and by scrimping on goods whenever she went shopping, she had a decent sum. It wasn’t enough to smuggle her out of White Fang by any means, but it was a reassuring start.

Then, just as carefully as she’d unrolled them, she would roll the socks back up and tuck them away. The wool was thick enough that no one would be able to tell by a glance what was hidden inside. Her secret was safe.

She was content enough to keep this secret inside herself, always holding onto it as a bit of hope whenever she braced herself against Adam’s temper. 

_Soon_ , she always told herself. Soon, she would be free.

\--

“What are you looking at?” Adam grumbled as they pulled up the last of the potatoes. Sheepishly, Blake tore her gaze from Cnoc na Bumbóg to look back down at their sickly crop.

“Nothing,” Blake replied. “Just wondering when we’ll see the first snow of the year.”

“It won’t be long.” Adam tossed a useless plant into their wheelbarrow.

“Oh.” Blake fell silent, then shot another guilty look back at the mountain. She wondered how Yang made it through long winters by herself. It had to be lonely.

“But just because there’s less farmwork in the winter doesn’t mean you’re off the hook,” Adam reminded her, not even looking her way. Blake took a deep breath. Now was her chance.

“I was… thinking,” she blurted out. “If there’s not much to do on the farm… there are always other things I could do.”

He looked up at her, and she saw his jaw tighten. She went on in a rush.

“When I was in the woods the other day… I found a pond. I was thinking that it might be a good place to try icefishing.”

Adam’s expression didn’t change, and for a moment, Blake hardly dared breathe. Finally, he turned away, looking back down at the potatoes.

“I didn’t know you could fish,” he grunted.

“I… I used to do it with my dad. As a child. But it’s... been a while since I’ve actually done it,” she told him, her nerves causing her to fidget slightly. “But I’m sure I could figure it out again. I still remember the basics.”

Adam’s huff sounded more like a growl, and Blake winced. “It might’ve been good to know this _before_. We could’ve been smoking fish this whole time.”

“I know,” Blake said softly. “I just… didn’t even consider it until I found that pond.” She paused, knowing what she was about to say would risk insulting him, but decided it would be worth it. “Besides… I thought we’d have enough food by now that we wouldn’t even need to fish.”

Blake could practically _see_ the moment his temper snapped. He stabbed his shovel into the ground, then whirled to face her, his expression a thunderhead. Automatically, Blake’s shoulders hunched and she stepped back, scrambling for her words again.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I just… I want to help. However I can. And if it means brushing off my rusty fishing skills…”

Adam didn’t move for what felt like a solid minute, during which Blake felt like she shouldn’t move, shouldn’t twitch, shouldn’t even breathe as she felt the weight of his stare. Then, he sighed, and nodded slowly. “I don’t much care for fish,” he mumbled, turning back to his work. “But these are desperate times.”

Blake gave a shallow nod, drawing in a quick, shallow breath. It sounded like he was going to _let_ her.

“I do have some old fishing gear,” he told her, pausing to take a sip of water from his canteen. “Haven’t really touched it, but you can look through it, and see if it’s useful at all. I’m not sure we have anything for icefishing, though.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Blake replied, trying to keep the jitters from her voice. “I’ll manage.”

“All right, then.” With a sharp nod, Adam tossed his canteen back down on the ground. “You’ll have to teach me sometime,” he added. He yanked the shovel out of the ground; he’d driven it in deeply. “Can’t have you be the only one bringing home food.”

She shrugged. “It’s not like there’s much else I can do in the wintertime.”

“There’s plenty to do,” he said, squaring up to a potato plant and jamming the shovel into the dirt around it. “Winter is a good time to work on sewing projects, and knitting. You should have enough work to keep you busy.”

“Do you knit?”

Adam scoffed, loosening the plant. “That’s woman’s work.”

“What about sewing?”

“What’s with the questions?” he asked irritably.

“I was just curious.”

He gave a long sigh, then pushed the shovel down to pull the plant up. “Out here, sewing and knitting are things the wife handles.”

“I’m not a wife,” she reminded him. A bold assertion, but her time with Yang had reawakened her sense of self-possession. He paused to study her, his blue eyes boring into her own.

“The point still stands,” he said slowly. “We both play important parts on this farm, Blake, and it’s important to maintain balance. You wouldn’t want to upset that balance, would you?”

Blake said nothing, only moving forward to grab the potato plant he’d dug up. He was right, that she had a part to play; he just didn’t realize how much of an act it really was.

“Though, that’s a good point,” he remarked, looking thoughtfully across the field. Blake shook out the plant, clumps of dirt falling to the ground. Already, she could see the grayish-green disease in some of the potatoes. She looked back up at him.

“What is?”

“That you’re _not_ a wife.” He redirected his gaze back to Blake. “Maybe we should remedy that before the snows come.”

Blake’s heart fell, and without thinking about the repercussions, she shook her head frantically. “No.”

“Why not?” His stare hardened.

_I will never marry you_ , was what she wanted to say. She could feel the words already forming on her tongue, but she bit them back. While it was the truth-- she would sooner run away from White Fang with nothing but the clothes on her back-- doing so would be dangerous. No, when she did finally leave, she would be smart about it.

“This is a terrible time to get married,” she mumbled, looking back at the plant she was inspecting. Sometimes, there were salvageable potatoes, but this plant was completely diseased. “Right before winter? No one would come to the wedding.”

“It would still help us,” he argued. “People always give gifts to newlyweds, and that could tide us over till spring.”

“You want to get married for the _gifts_?” she asked, trying to suppress her tone of disgust. This was low, even for Adam.

“I’m just thinking of _survival_ this winter,” he snapped. “Any little thing we can do--”

“We’re not getting married,” Blake said firmly, tossing the plant into the wheelbarrow. “Not this winter.” 

_Not ever_ , she added in her head.

He scowled, his whole body tensing, and for a moment, she could have sworn he would raise a hand to her. She grimaced, bracing herself for the blow. But then, he laughed.

“Always the spoiled city girl,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “You just want that perfect wedding, don’t you? White dress, musicians, the whole _fucking_ town invited.”

Despite the cursing, he made no move toward her. She continued to watch him warily as he chuckled and moved onto the next plant.

“You’ll get your fancy wedding, my love,” he told her in what sounded like his most patient tone as he dug around another potato plant, using it as a lever to pull it from the ground. “The whole package. It’ll be the wedding of your dreams. We can even invite your family in from the city if you’d like.”

Blake nodded blandly. If it made him happy, she’d let him talk.

“Everything will be different this spring, Blake,” Adam went on, tugging the plant free and giving it a shake. Dirt fell to the ground. “We’ll be starting fresh, and we’ll do better next year. We’ll clear out this land, and fix it. And now that you know the ins and outs of farming, you won’t fuck it up this time.”

Blake clenched her teeth, but she resisted the urge to retort. There was a moment’s pause as he looked over the small potatoes and brushed more dirt away. He grunted, and she didn’t need for him to tell her that this was another dud plant.

“You can work on your perfect dress over the winter…” He said, swinging the plant into the wheelbarrow with a little more force than was truly necessary. “...and after we shear the sheep, we can put as much of that money as we can toward the wedding. It’ll be the best wedding this town has ever seen. It’ll be the crown jewel on a perfect year. You’ll see.”

Though she wasn’t looking directly at him, she heard his footsteps come closer. She frozen, shoulders hunching as she braced herself for whatever force he might use on her. She’d thought he was in a good mood, but she’d been wrong before.

But not this time; she’d been right about his hopeful rambling. Instead of turning a hand against her, Adam came to a halt in front of her.

“It’ll all be different next year, my love,” he said again in what was probably meant to be a reassuring tone, but from him, it sounded like a raspy threat. She looked up at him warily. “It’ll be easier to see, when the grass is green again and we’ve got new crops in the ground. Nothing like springtime to give us a little hope again for the future. For _our_ future. And who knows?” His mouth curled. “Maybe by this time next year, we’ll have another kind of hope for that future.”

His eyes darted down to her stomach, and Blake felt bile rise in her throat. She swallowed it back as Adam finally-- _finally_ \-- turned away. She felt almost dizzy with relief as he strode back toward the wheelbarrow, taking out the plant he’d just put in. He would check it again, more thoroughly, in case there might be any potatoes to salvage, and his occupation with it meant that Blake could let herself shudder.

_Another kind of hope for that future_. She didn’t like the way those words sounded. Maybe once, when she thought she’d have a life with him, the idea of children wouldn’t make her so nauseous. Now, it sounded like a death sentence.

She closed her eyes, imagining for the thousandth time the little flash of possibility she’d had when she kissed Yang, and once again, that strong feeling of certainty flooded her whole body and heart.

There would be no future with Adam. Blake would make sure of that. There would be no future with him, no wedding, no children, no family.

She could _feel_ the power of that certainty, and as she did, the nausea ebbed.

She once again imagined herself in the woods that spring, the sunlight dappling the forest floor. She could even _smell_ the newly-awakened greenery of this vision, the pure aromas of earth and budding flowers and leaves. She’d be with Yang then, walking arm in arm, every so often leaning in for a kiss.

Maybe the springtime _did_ bring a little hope for the future, but it wasn’t the kind that Adam imagined. She took a deep breath, and found her smile as her certainty filled her with light. She would never marry him. She would never bear his children. She would never have to live a life at his side.

_This_ future-- the one she saw in her dreams-- would never involve him.

She would find her own liberation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha HA I'm sorry guys, I had writer's block that was cleverly disguised by my dedication to animal crossing. Hopefully, the next chapter will come out a little more easily. Thanks for the patience, y'all are the best. :)
> 
> Also, the tumblr user [SayohYou](https://sayohyou.tumblr.com/) made [GORGEOUS artwork from the last chapter](https://sayohyou.tumblr.com/post/617951090272600064) and I'm still crying.


	7. Chapter 7

“Enjoying the sunshine?” Yang teased.

Blake smiled, though she didn’t open her eyes. The air was cold enough that she was bundled up, but sunlight poured down on them through the barren trees. Laying beside Yang, atop a blanket, she was downright _comfortable_.

“Mmm,” was all she said.

They’d gone out to the stream that afternoon with the intent of fishing, and Yang had brought along a blanket. It was for a picnic, she’d insisted, though even after they’d eaten their lunch, they still couldn’t bring themselves to get back up. They’d set Yang’s basket to the side and lounged, using each other and the sun for warmth against the chill.

Blake felt soft fingers in her hair, and she sighed dreamily. She couldn’t never get enough of the way Yang stroked her hair.

“Five more minutes,” Blake mumbled. “I don’t think I’m ready to get up yet.”

“Take your time,” Yang replied with a chuckle. “The fish aren’t going anywhere.”

Which, like most things in the forest, Blake wasn’t completely sure she believed. In her extremely limited knowledge of fishing, she would have thought that fish were most active at dawn and dusk. Yet every afternoon they went to the stream, fish were always ready to bite their lines. It reminded her of Yang’s suspicious knack for finding mushrooms; Blake was convinced that she was exerting some of her magical influence to keep the fish biting.

Not that it mattered, of course. It meant she could doze off in the sunshine for a few extra minutes, enjoying the warmth of the woman beside her.

Somewhere in the trees, the winter songbirds were chirruping, and nearby, the stream burbled steadily. Once in a while, there were rustles in the forest as critters scrambled for last-minute nuts before winter. It was entirely peaceful, and Blake could feel her worries drift away.

A moment later, something tickled her cheek, and she smiled at the light sensation of Yang’s hair, and she guessed Yang was up to something. Sure enough, she felt soft, warm breaths against her nose, and softer lips claiming her own in a tender kiss. Her eyes fluttered open for a fraction of a second, long enough to see Yang’s face hovering over her as they kissed, then closed them again blissfully. Blake opened her mouth a little to deepen the kiss, making a small, contented sound when she felt Yang’s tongue slide alongside hers.

It all felt too nice.

“If you’re trying to convince me to get back up,” Blake told her when they broke the kiss, her voice husky, “you’re not doing a very good job.”

Yang laughed, and Blake squinted her eyes open to watch Yang roll back onto her side and prop herself up on her elbow, smiling lazily.

“You can do what you want,” Yang replied, her voice just as low. “I’m just as happy to kiss you laying down as I would be standing up.”

“I see.” Blake smiled, then closed her eyes again. “Glad to know you’re not picky.”

“Not with you.” She felt Yang’s fingers at her temple, drawn slowly down to her jawline. “Never with you.”

Yang shifted again, and she felt Yang’s kiss on her lips once more, gentler than before. Blake moved slightly, to push herself just enough to lean a little into the kiss. Yang’s hand smoothed down her neck, pausing on the collar of Blake’s blouse. Blake didn’t open her eyes as Yang slid her hand underneath, fingertips tracing along Blake’s clavicle.

And then Yang was cupping her head, easing her back down, trailing slow kisses down her neck. There was no urgency, no expectation; it was like the tactical sensation of lips on skin was the only thing Yang ever wanted or needed. When Yang stopped at Blake’s collarbone, kissing it almost reverently, Blake had never felt so exposed, or so vulnerable, through such tenderness. Yang knew better than to leave a mark, and her kisses were so gentle.

She tangled her fingers in the golden waves of Yang’s hair, opening her eyes to watch the way Yang hung over her chest, worshipping her skin.

At last, Yang’s head sank down, resting it over Blake’s heart. Her eyes flickered back up to Blake’s, and she smiled slightly.

“Your heartbeat,” she murmured, then closed her eyes.

“What about it?” Blake asked, so aware of the way her words made her chest rise and fall; it made Yang’s head bounce just a _little_.

“I was just thinking,” Yang replied, sliding her arm around Blake’s waist. “It makes for a beautiful song.”

\--

As the weeks crept on, there weren’t many more sunny days. Certainly none were warm enough to lay on blankets in the sunshine again, but the days she spent with Yang were bright in their own right. Once or twice a week, she’d pack up her fishing gear and retreat to the woods, where Yang would always meet her.

At the end of the afternoon, she always had a basket full of fish. The plentiful catch satisfied Adam, who seemed pleased with her seemingly-rediscovered fishing skills.

“So many,” he remarked when she returned from the woods one night. He gave Blake a gruff kiss on the lips, not seeming to notice how she didn’t return it. “I still can’t believe how abundant the ponds are.”

“Yeah,” Blake said, resisting the urge to wipe her mouth. “I guess not many people fish so far in the woods.”

“Is it far?” Adam looked at her sharply. “You’re not going too close to the mountain, are you?”

“Oh-- of course not,” she replied hastily. “I… know that it’s haunted.”

Truthfully, she’d almost forgotten that the deep forest was considered dangerous. She’d spent so much time there that it never even crossed her mind anymore that people still feared Cnoc na Bumbóg. 

Adam relaxed, then nodded. “You need to stay out of the deep wood,” he warned her, as if she hadn’t just said that she knew better. “You’re cursed enough as is. The last thing you need is to draw the attention of the banshee.”

_The attention of the banshee_. He had no idea.

“Of course,” Blake said, looking down, trying to look abashed when she was actually trying to hide a smile. “I would never risk that.”

\--

The first snow of the year always felt magical, so it only seemed right that it began to flurry as Blake walked through the woods.

She paused for a moment, reaching a hand out. A few snowflakes drifted onto her hand, melting just as quickly as they landed. She smiled a little. This was the kind of snow that wouldn’t stick; more than likely, the snow would stop falling before it could even coat the ground in white. It was a hint of things to come, but for now, Blake could admire its simple beauty without worrying about the harsh winter it would eventually bring.

“ _M’amhrán_.”

Blake’s smile spread as she felt arms wrap around her middle. She closed her eyes, tilting her head back to rest on Yang’s shoulder. She hadn’t heard her approach, but she never did. Yang was always so quiet in her woods. Quiet, except for that soft murmur of this new endearment for Blake.

“Hello, Yang,” she replied, turning to face her. Yang wore a bright smile, her cheeks flush from the cold air. “You found me.”

“Don’t I always?”

“Remind me never to play hide-and-seek with you.”

Yang laughed, then leaned in, lips brushing Blake’s in a gentle kiss. Blake was always hungry for Yang’s kisses; the days apart always felt too long.

“Maybe you just need to get better at hiding.”

“It’s too cold for that,” Blake said, giving an exaggerated shiver. “It’s snowing, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“You’ve never played hide-and-seek in the snow?”

“Never. I told you, I’m not good with cold.”

Yang chuckled, then spread her cloak wide with one arm. It was the same cloak she’d been wearing the day Blake had found her on the ridge, made of a silky black material. It was long, with an over-large hood, the kind of cloak a witch might wear in a fairy tale. But Blake sidled underneath it, pressing herself to Yang’s side, sighing pleasantly when she felt it drape around her and Yang’s arm slip around her waist. Though the fabric was thin, Yang’s body heat warmed the inside enough to keep Blake comfortable.

“Maybe it _is_ smart, to have such a big cloak,” she commented as she tucked it around her front, leaving just enough space for her fishing pole to poke out. “Big enough for two.”

“An unintended benefit,” Yang replied cheerfully. She had a little extra pep in her step as she led Blake between the trees.

“So what _is_ the purpose of its size, if you didn’t plan on fitting two people into it?”

“It’s…” Yang paused. “It’s for my peace of mind, more or less.”

“How so?”

“Ah… well.” Yang laughed, a little nervously. “I know, technically, when I sing, people aren’t able to see me from the valley. But I just… it makes me feel better, knowing that even if someone _does_ somehow look up and see me, they won’t see what I look like. It’s not completely unheard of, either, for the occasional daredevil to try hunting down a singing banshee, so it’s like an extra layer of protection.”

“I see.” Blake frowned. “Has it ever happened, that someone saw you singing?”

“Not until you,” Yang replied, the corners of her mouth twitching with a smile. Blake felt herself blush; maybe she _had_ been a bit of a daredevil, chasing after Yang like that. “But it has happened to other banshees before. That’s how my parents met my mother, actually. Raven.”

“Really?” Blake asked, surprised.

“Yeah.” Yang’s smile seemed to change, fading slightly into something sad. “On that same ridge, too.” She glanced up, like she was looking toward the ridge. She shook her head. “My parents-- Summer and Tai-- heard Raven singing when they were visiting White Fang. So, even though it was the middle of the night, they hiked up the mountain and found her. They said that they fell in love with her that night, just by hearing her song.”

“Oh,” Blake replied in a small voice. She thought back to the first time she’d heard Yang’s song; she _had_ loved the song, almost to the point of obsession.

If Yang’s parents had felt the same way...

“I always told them it was silly,” Yang added, with a short laugh. “The only reason they looked for her in the first place was because they knew banshees aren’t _really_ monsters. Both of them knew enough about magic to know not to fear the banshee. Still… it’s a nice story.”

“Yeah,” Blake said, swallowing thickly. _They fell in love with her, just by hearing her song_. “It is.”

Blake didn’t get a chance to ruminate in her confused thoughts for long, for Yang cleared her throat. “Anyway… I didn’t mean to get carried away with that!”

“It’s okay,” Blake replied, finding a smile, even against the strange flutter in her stomach. “It’s… sweet.”

“But not exactly what I wanted to talk about. I wanted to tell you…” Together, they stepped onto Yang’s farmland. Already, Blake could see something out of place: a covered wagon, standing near the goat shed. Blake couldn’t even imagine how it had been able to get to Yang’s house through the thick trees, but then Yang went on. “It’s my sister. She got here a couple days ago.”

“She’s here? Already?” Blake was surprised. Yang hadn’t been specific about _when_ Ruby would arrive; all she said was that her sister visited before solstices. It had something to do with the solstice being a peak time for magic, and that Ruby always wanted to make sure she was home in time to take advantage of it, but with the solstice still a few weeks away, this visit felt sooner than expected.

“Yeah!” Yang grinned, practically bouncing on her feet while she bounded ahead. The cloak slipped off of Blake’s shoulders with the motion, but she still felt that residual warmth. “And she’s so excited to meet you!”

“You told her about me?” Blake asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Just what had Yang told her? It wasn’t like Blake was interesting, or impressive in any way. She was just a woman who’d foolishly moved to the countryside without a second thought. If anything, Ruby probably thought her naive and foolish.

“Of course! You’re probably the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in years, and Ruby’s always trying to convince me to be less… hermit-ish.” Yang laughed. “That already makes you special in her eyes. Which is right, because you are.”

Yang came to a halt halfway through the fields, turning to face Blake. Snowflakes had caught in her long hair, glittering in the dim winter light. Blake leaned in for a kiss, Yang’s nose cold against her own.

“You don’t need to flatter me,” Blake chided quietly, though she couldn’t help but smile. Yang laughed again, the air cold enough to turn her breath into a cloud of condensation.

“It’s not flattery when it’s true. You _are_ special to me, m’amhrán _._ ” Yang kissed her again, softly. Blake might have thought that she’d get used to Yang’s kisses, but as always, her heart skipped a beat at the sweet words and sweeter kiss.

“ _Yang_!”

Blake almost jumped, looking around wildly. In the doorway of Yang’s cottage stood a dark-haired woman, looking so bright in a red cloak.

“That _was_ fast!” the woman said excitedly, slamming the door behind her and running toward them, her cloak fanning out behind her. “You really weren’t kidding. You _did_ feel her, didn’t you?”

“I did tell you,” Yang replied, looking almost smug. “But _you_ didn’t believe me.”

“I never said I didn’t believe you! I like to keep an open mind, thank you very much.” The woman spun to Blake, her silver eyes wild and eager. “So you’re Blake! I’m so glad to finally meet you!”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Blake said, taken aback. She glanced back at Yang, then offered the woman a handshake. “I take it you’re Ruby?”

“I am!” Shaking her hand, Ruby gave Blake a cursory once-over, from her cat ears to the fishing pole to her slightly rumpled clothes. Blake blushed, feeling like Ruby was evaluating her somehow. Then, Ruby shuddered, letting go over Blake’s hand and tightening her cloak around her. “Gods, it’s cold. Let’s go inside. Weiss started the tea right when you left, so--”

“Who?” Blake looked from Yang to Ruby, already seeing similarities in their facial shape, their smile.

“Oh, yeah!” Yang laughed. She threaded her arm back through Blake’s and tucking her back under her cloak. “I was getting to that. We just… got a little distracted, didn’t we?”

“And by _distracted_ , you mean kissing out in the fields, when it’s _snowing_ ,” Ruby grumbled, elbowing Yang good-naturedly. They all laughed, Blake feeling heat rise in her cheeks. Maybe getting caught kissing wasn’t the best way to meet Yang’s sister, so she supposed they earned the teasing.

“Anyway,” Yang went on, rolling her eyes, “Weiss came up with Ruby this time. Another hedgewitch, and a friend of ours.”

“Oh, right. Yang says you’re a hedgewitch?” Blake asked Ruby.

“I am!” she replied cheerfully.

“I’ve never met a real witch before,” Blake admitted, trying to see if she could sense any unworldliness from Ruby; she seemed like such a normal young woman. At the very least, it might explain how Ruby was able to fit a covered wagon through the forest.

“We like to keep to ourselves,” Ruby explained, shrugging. “People seek us out when they need us, but it’s not really a good idea to be too open about it. There are some pretty funny superstitions out there.”

“I’ll say,” Yang remarked dryly. Blake let out an amused huff. “Anyway, Ruby is basically the village hedgewitch in Patch, and Weiss is her assistant!” She swung the door open, ushering Blake and Ruby inside. “And they--”

“ _Excuse_ me, I am _not_ her assistant.”

By the cookstove, a dainty white-haired woman glared in Yang’s direction. Ruby snorted.

“In my heart, you’ll always be my apprentice!” Ruby said, clutching her heart dramatically. The white-haired woman-- Weiss, Blake presumed-- rolled her eyes.

“ _Please_ ,” Weiss said severely, then focused icy blue eyes on Blake. Across one of those eyes was a thin scar, giving her a dangerous air. “You must be Blake.”

“I am.” If she had felt evaluated by Ruby, she felt absolutely scrutinized by Weiss, who looked her up and down expectantly. Blake felt all too aware of the holes in her sweater, and the messy stitches in her knitted shawl. Weiss, on the other hand, looked immaculate in her creamy white sweater and neat blue skirt, and beside her, Blake felt like a peasant. “It’s… nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Weiss looked back at Yang, puzzled. “And she feels like a song, you said? And that’s how you’re able to pick her out in the forest?”

“That _is_ what I said,” Yang replied, and Blake could sense mild exasperation. She took off her cloak, hanging it up on the hook beside a silky white one. Awkwardly, Blake took off her shawl, unsure of where to put it when there were no vacant hooks. Fortunately, Yang took it, setting it atop her cloak without a second thought.

“I just didn’t expect you to actually find her that quickly,” Weiss protested, folding her arms crossly. “Are you sure it’s not a spell? There are several different kinds of locator spells, and--”

“And I didn’t use any of them,” Yang firmly. Weiss was short enough that Yang had to look down at her, folding her own arms to mimic Weiss. “I’m not as good with long-distance spells like that, anyway. You know this.”

“It’s just…” Weiss shook her head, ponytail bouncing. “Banshees aren’t supposed to find people like that. It’s just not done.”

Beside them, Ruby snorted, throwing her cloak across the back of a chair. Though her white shirt was simple, her pants were entirely patchwork, and Blake had to stop herself from staring at the wide array of colors. “The way you limit your views on what _can_ or _cannot_ be done is exactly the kind of thing that’ll keep you from growing as a witch, Weiss,” she scolded gently. “You can’t think of anything as _impossible_ when it comes to magic.”

“But what Yang is doing _isn’t_ magic, which is precisely the point!” Weiss said with a glare. “It’s got nothing to do with my skill, and I’ll have you know--”

“Please don’t start with this right now,” Yang sighed, giving Ruby a playful shove toward the table. “Just sit. You were making tea, right, Weiss? I’ll bring it over.”

“I-- yes.” It looked like Weiss wanted to keep arguing, but she gave in with a shake of her head. “Thank you, Yang.”

Blake sat down in one of the chairs while Ruby took a seat across from her. Someone had already set a couple extra chairs at the table before they’d arrived, leaving just enough room for all four of them. Weiss took a seat beside Ruby, and though she continued to study Blake from across the table.

“Do you wear any amulets?” Weiss asked, and Ruby rolled her eyes.

“No?” Blake looked over at Yang, confused. “Why?”

“She’s still trying to figure out how Yang found you,” Ruby explained with a sigh. “Can we just drop it, Weiss? Banshees are in a league of their own.”

“And I’ve already tried to explain it to you,” Yang added, placing a mug in front of everyone. “It’s exactly how it feels when I have to sing. Only… more tangible.”

“Banshees sing for events,” Weiss said, gaze shifting to watch Yang pour the tea. “Not for people.”

“There will always be things we can’t explain,” Ruby commented dreamily. “Sometimes, you just need to embrace the mystery.”

Weiss huffed. Being the source of someone’s irritation was uncomfortable, and Blake looked down into her mug, trying to focus on the floral scent of tea. Since she’d stopped buying tea in order to save money for herself, drinking it at Yang’s always felt like a luxury.

“And Raven never talked about this kind of thing, either,” Yang sighed, sitting down beside Blake, scooting as close as she could beside her. “So maybe it’s entirely new. Regardless…” She set a hand on Blake’s thigh, giving it a light squeeze. “I’m happy to experience it.”

Weiss didn’t seem convinced, but she didn’t press the issue. She took a short sip of her tea, closing her eyes, deep in thought.

“So, uh… Ruby.” Blake’s ears perked up, determined to find a new route of conversation. “What do you do, as a village hedgewitch?”

“Oh!” Ruby took a swallow of her tea, lighting up with a smile that was so like Yang’s. “I basically just help the villagers whenever they need it. If there’s a problem, people come to me. I use herbs and magic for healing, but I also can make potions and amulets.”

“We bless farmland,” Weiss added, ticking off her fingers. “That helps cure the land of pests and disease, and helps produce more abundant crops. We cleanse homes of bad energy, or restless spirits. We help couples have children when they otherwise could not.” She shrugged. “We’re not miracle workers, but when people come to us, we always try to help.”

“It all sounds… unreal,” Blake remarked, frowning. Weiss shrugged.

“There’s been a big push for people to see magical things in a bad light,” she said with a scowl. “Or to make it seem not real at all. The big inventors and businessmen in the cities think of magic as competition, so over the past century or so, there’s been a big smear campaign against anything magical.”

“Really?” Blake raised an eyebrow. This was something she hadn’t heard, or even considered.

“I was the heiress of the Schnee Dust Company,” she replied evenly, setting her mug down. “This was an issue that came up often, and it was the big businesses that led the campaigns to criminalize witchcraft.”

“And it’s why you were nearly burned at the stake,” Ruby added cheerfully, giving Weiss an amused nudge. Weiss shot Ruby a dour look.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Weiss went on, annoyed. “That’s why hedgewitches like us hide ourselves away in the countryside, or in backwater villages. If people really believe we can help them, they’ll figure out how to find us. We have to go to great lengths to hide ourselves from persecution.”

“That’s… interesting,” Blake said, furrowing her brows. “I’d honestly never even considered that. In Kuo Kuana, magic is just something you’d find in stories. Until I met Yang… I never even gave it a second thought.”

“And even after you did, it still took you a while to come around,” Yang teased, sliding her hand around Blake’s waist. Blushing, Blake leaned against her.

“Can you blame me?” she asked, embarrassed. There was a day not too long ago when she’d thought Yang was only a dream. Smiling, Yang planted a soft kiss to the top of her head.

“Of course not. It’s a lot to get used to, if you weren’t born into all of this.”

“But you’ll get the hang of it!” Ruby said cheerfully, grinning at her. “Believe me, by the next solstice, if you keep hanging out with my sister, you’ll be comfortable enough around magic to start learning basic spells yourself!”

“Oh…” Blake’s ears pricked up, and then drooped. On one hand, the idea of learning spells, or any magic at all, seemed exciting. A curtain had been pulled back, revealing a new world to her, filled with its own secrets that were just waiting to be learned. And maybe, some of them were within reach for Blake.

On the other hand, she wouldn’t be around for the next solstice. She thought of the coins hidden in her sock, and what they meant. She’d be gone by summer, returned to the city. Would the magic disappear from her life then?

Would Yang?

“Well, we’ll see,” she said, somehow managing to give Ruby a genuine smile.

She wouldn’t think of this yet, she thought with determination. Besides, there had to be a way to both return to the city and to keep Yang in her life. If magic was real, why couldn’t other fantastical ideas be possible?

“You will,” Ruby replied confidently, straightening up in her chair. “You’ll see.”

\--

Ruby stood barefoot, ankle-deep in the stream, not seeming to notice the chill of the water. She’d pulled her patchwork pants up to her knees, standing stock-still as she surveyed the clear water. The hem of her red cloak grazed the stream, but Ruby didn’t seem to notice or care that it got wet. 

On the shore, Blake, Yang, and Weiss looked on. The snow had stopped falling, but it was still cold, and Blake huddled close to Yang for warmth. Weiss was the only one who appeared to be disinterested, studying her nails in an almost bored manner.

“So how does this work?” Blake whispered. When Ruby had learned that Blake was planning to go fishing, she insisted on giving her a demonstration of magic.

Though Yang had a magical spirit, Ruby told her, she didn’t have the right aura required to do truly intricate magic. Yang’s spells were limited to small, practical things; Ruby, though, could _show off_.

“You’ll see,” Yang whispered back.

In the water, Ruby turned back to them and glared at Yang. She raised a finger to her lips, and went “ _Shh!_ ”

Weiss rolled her eyes. “It’s not every day she gets to perform,” she muttered.

“Didn’t I _just_ say to be quiet?” Ruby whined, turning her glare on Weiss. “You’re going to scare the fish!”

Blake and Yang exchanged a look, both of them struggling to hold back their smiles. Then, Ruby turned back to the stream and took a deep breath.

“I know you think I’ve got some good skills with fishing,” Yang whispered to Blake. “But I’ve got _nothing_ on Ruby.”

Ruby raised her right hand, as if preparing to wave at them. She held it there for a moment, then lowered it, one finger down as if she were playing a single note on a piano. Then, again. And again. She raised her hand once more with a gentle upward motion, giving Blake a strange image of Ruby conducting an imaginary orchestra.

So focused was Blake on Ruby’s hand, it took her a moment to notice when three fish rose out of the water, levitating of their own accord.

Blake gaped, staring at the flopping fish in the air. Ruby brought up her other hand, rocking it in time to a beat Blake could not hear. She slowly pressed her thumb and forefinger together, both hands coming to a stop. Mid-air, the fish stopped moving.

“How…?” Blake asked, watching with incredulity as Ruby conducted the fish through the air, setting them down in the open basket. Beside her, Yang grinned.

“Like I said,” Yang replied as Ruby looked toward the water once more, “I’ve got nothing on Ruby.”

“Show-off,” Weiss muttered.

“I can still hear you,” Ruby called to them, her whole body starting to sway with the motion of her arms. “You’re gonna scare all the fish away.”

“It’s… incredible,” Blake said, shaking her head with wonder. “She’s… summoning them?”

“She’s using a little bit of druidry here,” Yang replied, keeping her voice low. “It’s sort of… a passive kind of magic, and more connected to nature. I’ve got it a little bit, too, through my dad’s blood. We have a good feel for nature, and it makes it easier to… I wouldn’t say _summon_. It’s more like, we know where the fish are. And the fish _want_ to be where we are.”

“Is that what made it easier to find the mushrooms, too?” Blake asked, starting to understand. Yang nodded.

“Exactly,” she said. “I have an extra sort of bond with this forest that comes with my banshee connection, but the druid blood gives it a little extra kick.”

“I see.” Blake looked back at Ruby, at another trio of fish settling into the basket. “But the, uh… the way she’s catching them…”

“ _That’s_ real magic,” Yang said with another nod. “That’s something she had to really learn. Most people can learn basic spells, but that comes from the inherent magic in nature. Not everyone has the magic running in their own veins like Ruby does, though. That’s what makes her-- and Weiss-- special.”

Beside them, Weiss let out a _humph_. Both of them looked at her, but she didn’t return the look.

“It’s hereditary. Most magic is,” she told them, keeping a steady gaze on Ruby. “I get it from my mother’s side. Ruby and Yang got their gifts from their own parents. There’s so many secret, magical bloodlines out there that nobody even knows exists, linking all of us together. The witches, the banshees, the druids, the pookas, the selkies. And so many people are trying to make it so there’s no room for us in this world anymore. People like my own father are trying to push us out.”

“That’s… so sad.”

“That’s how the world is,” Weiss replied. She sighed, her shoulders slumping, and in that motion, she suddenly didn’t seem so cold. She was simply tired. “So we hold on as much as we can.”

“And we will,” Yang said firmly, looking back over at Ruby. “The world will only crush our spirits if we let it. If we give up.”

Blake smiled, taking a nugget of hope from Yang’s words. She watched in silence as Ruby continued to fish. With magic, it took her no time at all to fill up the basket. As she set the last trio of fish inside, she turned to face them all with a happy smile.

“Basket’s full! Gods, I forget how much fun fishing can be.”

“Because you cheat,” Yang said with a snort, striding over to the basket. It was full to the brim.

“It’s not cheating!” Ruby said, affronted.

“It’s still better than I could ever do.” Blake looked over all the fish, shaking her head in amazement. “Seriously. This would’ve taken me hours, and you did it in minutes.”

“And everyone’s got their own unique way of expressing their magic,” Yang explained, gesturing to Ruby. “You saw how Ruby does hers. Weiss, you should show Blake how yours works.”

“I, unlike Ruby, am not a showoff. ”

“It’s not _showing off_. It’s a _demonstration_ ,” Yang replied. “C’mon, Weiss. Just a little show?”

Weiss gave Yang a final glare for good measure, then sighed. She took a step back, pressing her palms together as if in prayer.

“Magic shouldn’t be done as a _show_ ,” Weiss told them, acting so much like a schoolteacher that Blake had to hide a smile behind her hand. “Magic isn’t a game, or a toy. It needs to be treated with the same respect you’d use in church.”

Blake’s eyes flickered toward Yang, who appeared to be biting back a smile. Likewise, Ruby was smiling blandly, patiently. 

“I’m not as good at fishing…” Weiss admitted, stepping up to the stream. Unlike Ruby, she didn’t wade into it, preferring to stand at its edge. She looked into the water, frowning, hands still pressed together. “Not that I need to be, since Ruby already filled your basket. But I can catch… _one_.”

On the last word, Weiss opened her palms. Inside, something glowed. Frowning, Blake inched closer for a better look.

It was a circle that hovered over Weiss’s hands, glowing blue, intricate symbols shifting and shaping within. Keeping the rotating circle in one hand, she flicked her other hand toward the water and formed it into a fist. A twin circle appeared, hovering above the water.

Blake felt a hand on her back. Her ears perked up and she looked up at Yang, expression softening as Yang’s hand slid around her waist and pulled her close. Blake smiled as Yang shared her cloak, wrapping it around Blake, immediately enveloping her in its warmth.

They watched in silence as Weiss tightened her fist. Whereas Ruby had moved her arms freely, almost in a dance, Weiss stood rigid. She hardly moved a muscle, even when the two circles she’d summoned continued to rotate. Her blue eyes only narrowed.

A fish rose from the water, flopping helplessly, pulled to the glowing circle. Weiss’s jaw clenched, and the fish stopped moving.

“That’s… so different,” Blake commented as the circle glided through the air, the fish still motionless against it. It dropped into the basket, and Weiss finally released her fist. The circles faded away.

“But it’s exactly the same sort of magic I used,” Ruby replied cheerfully. “Soaring, and silence.”

“Levitation, and death,” Weiss corrected.

“The same magic, but executed in different ways. It’s all in the way we view what the spells mean for _us_ ,” Ruby added. “It’s like… synonyms, but _magic_!”

“That… sounds confusing,” Blake said, frowning. Yang laughed, then leaned closer to give Blake a kiss.

“You’ll get used to it,” she told her, grinning. “And I’m not as good as they are, so I’ll keep it a lot more simple.”

“You? Simple?” Blake asked, giving Yang a light tap on the nose. “That is _definitely_ not the word I’d use for you.”

“What _would_ you use, then?”

“Flirt later,” Ruby whined, grabbing the basket of fish and setting it on her hip. “I want to get back inside, where it’s _warm_.”

Both Blake and Yang laughed, and Weiss nodded. “Agreed. Wasn’t it snowing earlier?”

“Yeah,” Blake replied, though she hardly had eyes for Weiss; it was Yang she smiled up at. “It _is_ a bit chilly.”

“Then I’ll have to fix that, m’amhrán,” Yang said warmly, taking Blake’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “We can go back and I’ll make some tea, and then--”

Ruby gave a soft squeak.

“That’s so _sweet_!” she gushed, grin widening.

“What is?” Blake asked.

“ _M’amhrán_!” Ruby repeated, and Weiss frowned.

“What’s that mean?” she asked. Yang laughed.

“You still don’t speak the language? I thought you were studying more.”

“It’s _hard_ , and most of the people in Patch don’t speak it anymore,” she complained. “And Ruby might be good at teaching magic, but she’s _terrible_ at explaining language.”

“It’s called _language immersion_!” Ruby insisted.

“Which isn’t for everyone,” Yang reminded them, wrapping a casual arm around Blake.

“What about you?” Weiss demanded, whirling to Blake. “Do _you_ know what it means?”

“Well…” Blake hesitated. When she’d asked Yang what it’d meant, Yang had blushed and shrugged it off as _just a little petname_. She looked back at Yang quizzically. “Is it not just an endearment, or something?”

“Ooh!” Ruby said, eyes widening as she looked from Blake to Yang. “You _didn’t_ tell her? That’s low, Yang.”

“It’s not--” Yang protested, but Ruby was already giving Blake a nudge.

“She could’ve just been insulting you this whole time,” she whispered with a mischievous smile.

“I wouldn’t-- I would never--” Yang stammered, eyes going wide. “It’s--”

“I know, I know,” Blake said fondly, bringing a finger to Yang’s lips, silencing her. She smiled. “But now I’m curious. What _does_ it mean?”

Yang’s cheeks, already stained pink, deepened to red. Her eyes darted to the ground, then back up at Blake somewhat shyly.

“It’s… a little silly,” she said slowly, reaching a finger for Blake’s hair. She caught a strand around it, and twirled it around her finger. “M’amhrán. It means… _my song_.”

Blake swallowed. It was no secret, that Yang considered Blake to have an aura of song about her. But to hear her say this, to call her this name…

“M’amhrán,” Yang breathed, resting her forehead against Blake’s. “You _are_ my song.”

The breath caught in Blake’s throat, rendering her speechless. She barely registered Weiss’s small squeak of understanding, or Ruby’s giggle. It was like the world around them had muted, and the only thing she could truly comprehend was the woman before her. She tilted her head to brush her lips against Yang’s.

A song, Blake thought, feeling Yang hum into the kiss. Maybe, instead of a farmer’s wife, _this_ was what she was meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, because Gaeilge (the Irish language) is notorious for not sounding like it's spelled, I'll give you a little assistance here! I've only ever studied it casually, so take any of my translations/pronunciations with a grain of salt! If any of you happen to have any corrections for me, I'm all ears!!
> 
> M'amhrán: mow-RAWN (the mow like the word English word "now", and flip the R!)  
> Cnoc na Bumbóg: k'nuhk (all one syllable!) nuh BUHM-bohg


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mild spice in this chapter! but only mild. like, you wouldn't even need to wash it down with milk to cool your mouth off.

If only that afternoon could have lasted forever.

Blake stood at the window, blankly staring across their fields and into the dark trees. She folded her arms across her chest, her fingers tucked into her armpits for warmth. They had the barest fire going that night, but it wasn’t enough to take the edge off the chill. It was always so _cold_ in Adam’s house, a cold that emanated just as much from him as from the air outside.

There was a warm refuge out in those woods, though, she thought sullenly, listening to the distant hoot of an owl. What she wouldn’t give to be there, in Yang’s cottage, instead of stuck in this freezing house.

“Come back to bed.”

One ear cocked, Blake turned to look at Adam, where he sprawled beneath the blankets. He was watching her, though Blake didn’t sense any immediate danger from him; he was simply _observing_ her, studying her like someone might study a deer, perhaps taking notes for a future hunt. She pulled her dressing gown even tighter around her.

“In a minute,” she said, gaze returning to the window. Only a broken sliver of a crescent moon hung in the sky that night. “You can go to sleep if you want. I’m not quite ready yet.”

Adam huffed, as if he didn’t quite believe her, but sank into the pillows anyway. “Whatever you say, Blake,” he replied tiredly. “But just because winter’s come doesn’t mean you’ll be able to sleep in.”

“I know,” she replied softly. He’d said it often enough, like he expected her to forget her responsibilities. He would never stop seeing her as lazy; that much she knew.

Silence fell between them, and for a few moments, Blake hoped that it might mean he’d fallen asleep. But then he spoke again.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, sitting back up to look directly at her. She turned back to face him, not quite meeting his eyes. “It might be a good idea for you to learn how to spin.”

“Spin?”

“Wool. Into yarn,” he added evenly. “We’ve got an old spinning wheel in the barn. With a bit of elbow grease, I could fix that thing up and get it working again. This could be a good way to earn a little extra money for the winter.”

Blake said nothing. She bit her lip. She’d first seen the old spinning wheel back in the summer months, and had mentioned to him that Ilia might be able to teach her to use it. She’d brought it up again a couple weeks ago, knowing it could be a small source of income, though now he seemed to be acting like this was his own idea. Not that it mattered; she could play along.

“With all the potatoes dug up, it might do you some good, to learn how to spin before the big snows hit,” he went on, patting the space on the bed beside him. Expression unchanging, Blake left the window to take a seat beside him. She didn’t want to sit too close, but when he snaked his arm around her, she couldn’t fight it when he pulled her closer. “Your friend. Ilia. She’s got all those sheep, right? Does she know how to spin?”

“She does,” she said warily. He knew this, but she knew better than to point it out.

“It’s been a while since you’ve seen her, hasn’t it?” he mused, stroking her arm. “You _have_ been getting better about managing your time with your work. You’ve been doing well with fishing, too. I was thinking it might be a good idea to dedicate some of that fishing time to learning how to spin. How about you pay her a visit, and ask her to teach you? We don’t have much, but the Amitolas are pretty open to bartering, aren’t they?”

“They-- yes,” she replied, feeling at once both elated and worried. As much as she wanted to see Ilia, how would it affect her visits with Yang? Was he going to stop her from fishing altogether?

“Good, good,” he said, nodding to himself. “Besides, this is a skill that’ll pay itself back. We can make more money from selling spun yarn instead of raw fleece.”

“Do you want me to ask her tomorrow?” Blake asked slowly, trying to ignore the way he continued to stroke her arm. He wasn’t an affectionate sort of man, and she regarded any soft touch with suspicion.

“Didn’t I just say that?” he asked irritably. Blake shrugged one shoulder. He sighed. “Yes. Tomorrow is shopping day, isn’t it? You can stop in for a visit with her, and ask about it, and see if there’s anything she’d trade lessons for.”

“I will,” she said softly, then paused. She had to ask. “But it… would probably be a good idea to keep up with my fishing. Just so we don’t run out or anything.”

Blake felt his grip tighten, and she held her breath.

“I think the priority right now should be in finding ways to increase our income,” he replied sternly. “And _then_ fishing. We’ve got enough smoked fish now to last a while, but we can’t live on fish alone. We need more than that, and we can only get that if we have the money to buy it.”

“You’re right,” she said quickly, her heart falling, but she had no choice but to agree. “Of course.”

His grip relaxed, and Blake’s shoulders slumped with relief. “We’ll definitely need you to keep fishing through the winter,” he amended. “But _this_ needs to be your main focus. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I do,” she sighed, not daring to press the issue. He gave a sharp nod, then took her by the chin, forcing her to look up at him. Her eyes widened, and in response, he smirked.

“Smart girl,” he said approvingly. He leaned forward and kissed her, his kiss lingering like a blight. It was a relief when he broke away and slid down under the covers. He pulled her closer, and she had no choice but to follow. “Let’s get some sleep. It’s late.”

Blake said nothing as he wrapped his arms around her, which forced her to set her head on his chest. His chest was hard and uncomfortable, but the minute she could, she’d pull away. How different would it be, to wake up beside someone she loved, to _want_ to curl into someone’s arms?

How different would it be, Blake thought as she felt his arms squeeze more tightly around her, to sleep beside Yang instead?

\--

Blake scowled, pulling the two brushes against each other. There was resistance as she pulled the brushes’ teeth in opposite directions, but at least it seemed to be straightening out the wool caught between them.

“And how long do I keep doing this?” she asked Ilia, trying to hide her boredom. But there must’ve been something in her tone, for Ilia smirked.

“Until I tell you to stop,” she replied teasingly, pulling wool out of her own carding brushes.

Blake had never really given much thought into how yarn was made. She always knew it had to come from somewhere, but she’d never really thought about the step-by-step process. She supposed it made sense, that there were steps to take before actually spinning it, but she didn’t think it would take so long.

Ilia had been a good teacher, at least. She’d walked Blake through washing the fleeces, and now they had moved onto carding them. They placed tufts of the fleeces between the teeth of the brushes-- the _carders_ \-- then brushed them back and forth against each other. It was done to break apart the clumps of wool, and straighten them out so that all the fiber ran in the same direction. Only after that would they be able to feed the wool into the spinning wheel.

But gods, she didn’t expect that the carding would take so long.

“Is there any simpler way to do this?” she asked, setting the carders onto her lap. Her arms ached; her muscles weren’t used to these motions. Ilia shrugged.

“There’s other kinds of carders-- there’s one that you can spin with a handle-- but those are more expensive.”

“Oh.” Glumly, Blake shook her arms out, then picked up the carders again.

“You’ll get the hang of it!” Sun said encouragingly, pumping his foot on the pedal of the spinning wheel. “If she can teach _me_ , she’s more than capable of teaching you.”

“You _were_ a pretty bad student,” Ilia teased, picking up a clump of raw wool and throwing it at him. It missed widely, and Blake rolled her eyes as she rose to grab it.

Tedious though the activity was, at least she kept good company. When they’d scheduled a time for Blake to have her first lesson, Ilia took advantage of the opportunity and invited Sun to join them. It was the first time in months that Blake had seen Sun, and weeks since she’d spent time with Ilia. Even if the activity was boring, she was grateful she was able to do it with them.

“I’m still not very good,” Sun said with a dramatic sigh, feeding more roving into the spinning wheel with his tail. “I usually have to hire people to process most of my wool.”

“But that gets expensive,” Ilia pointed out.

“There’s other stuff I’d rather be doing,” he complained. “So it’s worth it. Though, after this year, I’m gonna have to spin a lot more myself. I’ve gotta be a little more frugal after that blight.”

“Don’t we all?” Blake muttered, the bitterness obvious in her tone. Sun and Ilia exchanged a look.

“Is… everything all right for you guys?” Ilia asked with a small frown. “I know the blight hit you hard.”

“We’ll be fine,” Blake replied shortly, smacking the carders together and dragging them apart. She liked that carding required a little bit of brute force. “If I can spin some yarn, that’ll be another source of income. We’ll be fine.”

“But are _you_ fine?” Ilia pressed. Sun looked up, his blond eyebrows furrowed worriedly. “When it’s gotten to a point where he won’t even let you see us--”

“I’m dealing with it!” Blake snapped. She took a deep breath. “Look…” She paused. Could she trust them with her plan of leaving White Fang? But when she looked from Ilia’s face to Sun’s, all she saw was concern. Concern for _her_. Blake slumped. “I’m… sort of saving up money right now. To leave here.”

“Wait, really?” Sun stopped spinning, his eyes wide.

“You _cannot_ tell Adam,” she added hurriedly, hushing her voice unnecessarily. She waited until both Ilia and Sun nodded before going on. “I’ve been saving coins here and there. I can’t stay here. Not with him.”

“When?” Ilia asked, setting her carders down in an anxious twitch. “And where will you go?”

“Back to Kuo Kuana.” Blake set her own back in her lap, staring at the coarse wool between their teeth. “This spring. As soon as I’ve got enough money.”

“You’re going back to the city?” Sun asked, surprised. “Do you not like it here? You could just live with me or Ilia.”

“And you think Adam would let that happen?” she asked harshly. Out of instinct, she looked toward Ilia’s front door; she knew she was safe at Ilia’s, but saying these words out loud amped up her paranoia. She shook her head. “No. I can’t stay.”

Ilia and Sun exchanged looks. The sadness in them made Blake feel a small twinge of regret. Ilia was the one who broke the silence first.

“Well, it’ll be better for you,” she said with determined cheer, wearing a forced smile as she picked her carders back up. “He’s never treated you well, and we all know it. We want you to be happy, no matter where you go.”

“Do you have a plan?” Sun asked, uncharacteristic seriousness in his voice. “How are you gonna get back to Kuo Kuana?”

“It won’t be until spring,” she reminded him, resuming her own carding. “I’m hoping I can pay off someone and hitch a ride on their wagon.”

“It’ll be faster than walking,” Sun agreed. “Though, there’s nothing wrong with walking!”

“All the inns will get expensive, though,” Blake reminded him. “So I need to travel quickly, and I’d really prefer to not sleep outdoors. Not everyone is a vagabond like you.”

“A vagabond?!” Sun clutched his chest in dramatic outrage. “I--” He stroked his chin with mock thoughtfulness. “You know, maybe I was a vagabond.”

Blake rolled her eyes. Sun had spent much of his youth wandering Remnant, traveling from town to town, working in exchange for food and lodging. He had fascinating stories from those days, but Blake couldn’t travel so leisurely. She needed to put as much space between her and White Fang in as short a time as possible, to ensure that Adam would have difficulty if he tried to follow.

“But that’ll still mean you have to get through winter,” Ilia pointed out, frowning. “Will you be okay for that long? If he tries to keep you from seeing people--”

“He doesn’t keep me isolated or anything,” she said defensively, to which Ilia raised an eyebrow. Sun gave her a flat stare.

“Uh-huh,” he said, not sounding convinced. “So you decided, all on your own, that you shouldn’t visit me?”

“I--” Blake bit her lip. Sun wasn’t an idiot. If she tried to come up with excuses, he would call her out on them. So instead, she shrugged guiltily. “I’m... sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Ilia said firmly, shooting a glance at Sun. “I just wish there was something we could do.” She paused, then brightened. “If Sun and I give you the money--”

“No,” Blake said quickly, feeling her face heat up. “I’m not taking your money. Besides, traveling in the winter is pretty risky.”

“I guess,” Ilia replied, sighing.

“We could just hide you at one of our houses!” Sun suggested. Blake shook her head.

“He knows I’m close with both of you. If he suspects anyone, it’d be you two, and if he found me…” She looked down. “Only the gods know what he’d do.”

A depressive silence fell. Sun resumed his spinning, and Ilia glared at her carders; Blake didn’t know if Ilia knew that her freckles had turned an angry red, but she didn’t point them out.

“There’s... something else,” Blake said after a moment. If she could trust them with her plan, she might as well tell them all of it. “I sort of… met someone.”

Both of their heads shot up.

“Wait, what?” Sun asked, confused, while Ilia’s eyes widened.

“Is it the woman you were telling me about?” she asked, her quiet anger giving way to excitement. Her freckles dimmed into their ordinary brown. “That you told me about months ago? That Yang person?”

“Who?” Sun asked, bewildered.

Blake could feel herself blushing. “Well… yeah.”

“You _did_ see her again!” Ilia said, grinning. “Did you ever figure out where she lives?”

“Can someone _please_ explain?” Sun asked, exasperated. Blake smiled slowly, and Ilia let out a full laugh.

“Last time Blake visited me,” Ilia said, smirking, “she told me about some mystery woman she met in the woods. And Blake was _so_ into her.”

“It wasn’t that obvious!”

“Right.” Ilia’s smirk only grew, and Blake groaned. “So tell us about her! How come I’ve never heard of her? And her name _is_ Yang, right?”

“She… yeah.” Blake’s face _felt_ red. “Yang Xiao Long.”

“Who?” Sun asked, now sounding more confused than frustrated. “I’ve never met anyone here with that name, or even the last name.”

“She’s a bit… reclusive,” Blake said awkwardly. She couldn’t just come out and say that Yang was the mysterious Lady of the Ridge; both of them held fast to superstition, and their interest would easily give way to fear.

“Like.. a hermit?” Ilia asked dubiously.

“Ohhh!” Sun’s eyes widened. “A _hermit_? You gotta be careful with hermits, Blake. Fairy tales with hermits _never_ end well. She could end up being a witch, and bake you into a pie or something!”

“Sun!” Ilia said with a glare.

Blake, though, laughed at Sun’s outburst. He had no idea how close to the mark he’d gotten. “She’s not going to bake me into a pie,” she said reassuringly, and she watched the tension in Ilia’s shoulders loosen.

“What a relief,” she muttered sarcastically.

“Never rule it out,” Sun added playfully, grinning. “You never know what hermits are capable of!”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Blake rolled her eyes.

“So she doesn’t come to town? Ever?” Ilia asked. Blake shook her head. “I didn’t even know there _was_ a hermit around here.”

“Her sister visits now and then to bring her things, but other than that, she’s pretty self-sufficient. She has goats and such.”

“Where does she live?”

“Gods, Ilia,” Blake said, feeling herself flush with embarrassment. “You’re full of questions.”

“Considering I have no idea who she is? I just want to make sure she’s _good_. And that she’s treating you well.” Ilia paused. “You deserve someone better than what you’ve got now. Someone who can treat you with kindness, and respect…”

“Yang does,” Blake said softly, feeling a smile tug at her lips. “She’s… incredible. It’s like… I’ve never felt this way about someone before. I didn’t know…” She bit her lip, struggling to articulate it. “I didn’t know it was possible to feel like this. She’s so… _different_ , but in a wonderful way.”

“So let me get this straight,” Sun said, brows furrowing. “You fell in love with someone, here. And you’re still planning on leaving?”

“I-- I never said I was in love!” Blake stammered, though as she said it, she twitched, and pulled on the carders so hard and carelessly that she flung one of them into the wall. Ilia snorted as Blake rose, shuffling over to pick it up.

“Uh-huh,” she said with amused doubt when Blake sat back down. Blake couldn’t look either of them in the eyes as she methodically resumed her carding with a little more force than necessary.

“If she’s a hermit, and no one even knows about her, why not just live with her?” Sun asked, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “If Adam doesn’t know about her, she’d be a safe person to live with, right?”

“I’m not just going to ask to move in with her,” Blake said defensively, ears pinning back. “I’m not going to force that on her, or guilt her into it.” She knew her words were getting heated, and she tried to reel them in. She took a deep breath. “I-- I care about her. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable at all, or burden her, or--”

“ _Do_ you love her?” Ilia asked more seriously, a slight tilt to her head. Blake’s cheeks burned.

“I…” Blake squeezed her eyes shut and covered them with her hands, hoping it hid the blood that had so quickly rushed to her face. “I don’t know! Maybe.”

But who was she kidding? She knew her heart was far away, beating deep in the trees of Cnoc na Bumbóg. Her mind, too, was never in the valley, but on the mountain. Yang was in her head at all times, coiled around each thought. Every dream and daydream, every second of the day, all belonged to Yang.

Of course she was in love with Yang.

She’d _been_ in love with Yang, even from the very beginning. It was like what had happened to Yang’s parents, wasn’t it? They’d fallen in love with Yang’s mother when they first heard her song; Blake could see now that the same thing had happened to her. Something had drawn her to Yang’s song that first night, connecting them before they’d even met. It was the most natural thing in the world, and Blake couldn’t fight it any more than she could stop herself from breathing. Their time together had only stoked it, building it until there was no room for hesitation. There was absolutely no question: she was in love with Yang.

But, gods, what would that mean for her?

“I do,” she finally admitted, slumping over in her chair. A part of her felt relief at the admission, but another part of her wanted to cry. If she loved Yang, how _could_ she leave? “I do love her.”

“Hey,” Ilia said, rising from her seat and hurrying over to Blake. She wrapped her arms around her in an embrace. “It’s okay.”

“I love her,” Blake repeated, shaking her head, ears drooping. She felt the heaviness of tears behind her eyes, but didn’t shed them; she was good at keeping those at bay. “Gods, what do I do?”

“Does she love _you_?” Ilia asked gently.

“I-- I don’t know.” Her first instinct was to think the idea was absurd; as sweet as Yang was with her, Adam’s words never stopped reverberating through her head. Words like _cursed_ and _silly_ and _stupid_ and _foolish_. Those words continually beat down on her, making her feel exactly what he said; with those words, she felt wholly unloveable.

But there were other words, too, ringing less frequently, but with more resonance: words like _m’amhrán_ , and _beautiful_ , and _you’re like my fire_.

“Maybe?” Blake said, lowering her hands down and looking into them. “I’m… not positive.”

Sun, who’d been watching the exchange silently, tilted his head. “If you think she _might_ , even just a little… what’s the harm in asking if you can stay with her? It could get you off of Adam’s farm, and give you time to think about what you _really_ want.”

“You deserve to be with someone who loves you,” Ilia said softly, straightening up. “Because what you’re getting from Adam now isn’t that.”

“I don’t know,” she mumbled, rolling her fingers together. Working with wool that day had softened them with the fiber’s natural lanolin. Rubbing her fingers together felt so smooth. “I also feel like I need to help Adam get through the winter, and earn him a little money, too. Even if he hasn’t been… great, he’s still kept a roof over my head. I should at least make sure he’ll be okay money-wise.”

“You owe him nothing,” Ilia told her harshly. “Really, Blake. You owe nothing to anyone but yourself.”

“I’ll figure this out, okay?” Blake replied irritably, her tone making it clear that the topic was closed. Ilia opened her mouth, then closed it again with a short nod.

“Fine,” she said with a sigh. For a moment, none of them said a word. The treadle of the spinning wheel creaked almost imperceptibly, the regular rhythm only interrupted by the scratching of carding teeth against each other.

Sun, however, was never fully comfortable with silence.

“So! Uh…” he said as he fed more roving into the spinning wheel. “So how’d you meet Yang? And when? Will we get to meet her, too?”

“Yeah!” Ilia seemed to be grateful for the break in the silence, and her smile came a lot more easily. “I’d love to see the kind of person who’s swept you off your feet so hard.”

“I--” Blake raised her eyebrows, thinking. For some reason, she’d never envisioned introducing Yang to any of her friends; maybe she’d been swayed by Yang’s determination to hide away. But now that she thought about it… why not? _Would_ Yang consider meeting other people? “I suppose I could ask her,” she replied slowly.

“Yeah!” Sun said enthusiastically, pumping a fist into the air. “How else are we supposed to know if she’s up to our standards?”

“She is,” Blake said, a smile poking out of the shadows. “She’s one of the kindest people I’ve met. In my whole life, I mean, not just in White Fang. And she knows so much about the woods, and farming. She’s an amazing cook.” She paused, her smile widening. “And she’s the best singer I’ve ever heard.”

“Then I’m excited to meet her!” Ilia said warmly, giving Blake a teasing wink. “I’d love to meet anyone who can make you smile like that.”

Blake could sense that she was blushing again, but she felt a bit better as she began to pick out a small tangle of fiber from the teeth of the carders. She hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted to speak about her own happiness, and have her friends validate it. In telling them, she was making her relationship with Yang a little more real, a little closer to home.

“Yeah,” Blake said, feeling the smile in her whole soul. “I’ll see what I can do.”

\--

Between her spinning lessons and regular housework, it was almost two weeks until Blake was able to see Yang again.

As soon as Adam made a grudging comment about the need for more fish, Blake jumped at the opportunity. It surprised her, how heavy her heart had become when she was forced to be apart from Yang for so long. Their regular visits had become so vital, so crucial, to her sanity. Without Yang, every day was excruciatingly slow and dull, yet always tense with the looming threat of Adam’s shadow. 

It was harder, still, to live in that shadow when she knew that a light like Yang’s was so near.

Blake tramped through the freshly-fallen snow, her breath coming out in smoky puffs. A part of her was tempted to make a break through the trees, to run deeper into the forest, but she resisted the urge. The snow already made walking more of a challenge, and she knew she’d feel silly if Yang found her out of breath.

The forest was so different with snow. There were only a few inches on the ground, which wasn’t enough to totally erase Blake’s memory of fall, but it was enough for her to imagine the winter wonderland this forest would become. She hoped the snow wouldn’t keep her away from Yang, but she had a feeling that, if it came down to it, she would fight through a snowstorm to be with her. She would battle blizzards, and rain, and fire to get to her. A little snow certainly wouldn’t stop Blake from seeing the woman she loved.

The woman she loved, she thought to herself with a smile. It was getting easier to admit it to herself; she even _liked_ the idea of being in love with Yang.

Maybe, she dared to hope, Yang would even love her back.

About an hour into her walk, Blake came to a stop, suddenly feeling like she was being watched. Her ears pricked up, alert. If she hadn’t had such sensitive hearing, she probably wouldn’t have heard the soft _crunch_ of snow.

“Yang?” she asked curiously.

She turned to her right, where Yang stepped out of the trees, a look of surprise on her face.

“Am I getting that bad at sneaking?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

Blake didn’t respond with words. She bound forward, dropping her fishing gear to seize Yang’s shirt, pulling her close and kissing her hard. Yang twitched with surprise, but recovered quickly, her arms wrapping around Blake’s waist as she returned the kiss.

“Gods, I’ve missed you,” Yang murmured when they broke away. Blake looked up into Yang’s eyes and saw relief there. “It’s been so long. I got worried.”

“Are you getting soft on me, Yang Xiao Long?” Blake teased, hoping the lightness could make Yang forget her worries, like there was nothing for her to worry about at all. Yang’s smile was weak.

“I’m always soft when it comes to you,” she replied. She paused, lifting a hand to cup Blake’s cheek. “I thought that… something might’ve happened. To you.”

“I’m okay,” Blake said reassuringly, resting her hand over Yang’s. “See?”

“I see,” Yang said, kissing her again. “Though… I did go down to the farm once,” she admitted, cheeks turning pink. “Since it had been so long--”

“You were checking on me?” Blake asked, feeling her own face start to burn.

“I’m sorry if that’s-- if it’s too intrusive,” Yang said quickly. “I just-- I was… afraid, I guess. That you might’ve been…”

Yang didn’t, or maybe she couldn’t, finish the sentence. Her hand dropped and she looked away, but Blake leaned in again to give her a softer kiss.

“I don’t mind,” Blake told her, running her hand through Yang’s hair. “It’s… nice to know that you were looking out for me.”

“I didn’t see you,” Yang said with a sigh. “I didn’t dare come too close, but nobody was outside.”

“I might’ve been at my friend’s house. She’s been teaching me to spin wool.”

“Really?” Yang looked intrigued. “Do you like it?”

“Not particularly,” Blake said with a laugh. “I’m not very good.”

“Give it time,” Yang replied encouragingly, her eyes twinkling. “You’ll get the hang of it. I bet it’s making your hands soft, though. Can I see?”

Blake rolled her eyes, but held one hand out for Yang’s inspection. Yang took it, turning Blake’s palm up and running her fingers slowly across Blake’s palm and down to her fingertips. The touch made Blake shiver.

“It’s the lanolin in the wool,” Yang murmured, massaging her fingers into Blake’s palm. “It’ll keep your hands from getting chapped this winter, that’s for sure. They’re so soft already.”

“That’s… nice,” Blake said, feeling her blush deepen. Yang laughed, and after so long without hearing it, it was the sweetest sound Blake had ever heard.

As they walked to Yang’s house, Blake filled her in on the details regarding spinning. Why Adam asked her to learn it, the relief of seeing Ilia and Sun, and her terrible progress on the spinning wheel. Every time she set Yang to laughing again, Blake could feel a part of her heart lifting even higher.

When they got inside, Blake’s body shivered as it acclimated to the warmth. After the coldness of Adam’s house, it was like her body kept forgetting what it was like to be truly warm. She pulled her sweater over her head, hanging it on one of the hooks while Yang kicked her shoes off.

“Sit by the fire while I get some tea made up,” she said cheerfully, jutting her chin toward the crackling fireplace. “This is definitely the kind of day where I just want to sit and read by the fire.”

“I’m sorry that I interrupted it, then,” Blake replied, giving Yang a sheepish smile as she unlaced her boots. “You know, I don’t mind fishing on my own this afternoon, if you’d rather stay inside.”

“And miss out on time with you?” Yang asked, returning her smile. “You’re worth braving the cold for, m’amhrȧn.”

It felt so good to be called that name again. Blake smiled as she settled into the rocking chair by the fire, stretching her legs out so her toes could feel its heat, tangling them in the soft fleece of the sheepskin on the floor. She paused, thinking, then slid out of the chair, curling her legs to the side as she got comfortable on the sheepskin. This way, her whole body could be close to the fire, and she closed her eyes in relaxation.

“Is the floor that comfortable?” Yang called over, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“It just feels good,” Blake sighed, scooting a little closer. She felt bathed in warmth, and between the fire and the comforting smells of Yang’s home, it felt like paradise.

She heard Yang chuckle, but Blake didn’t open her eyes. She could probably fall asleep like this, she thought.

She opened them only when she heard Yang stride over, setting two mugs of tea on a side table. She smiled down at Blake, a tenderness in her expression that Blake felt in her whole body. She smiled back, and wordlessly reached a hand up to her. Yang took it, following Blake’s lead to sit on the sheepskin beside her.

Yang wriggled close to Blake, leaning against her and slipping an arm around her waist. Blake sighed contentedly, drawing her nails lightly along Yang’s back.

“I guess it _is_ comfortable down here,” Yang murmured, bringing her face close to Blake’s, brushing back a strand of hair.

“It’s twice as comfortable with you, though,” Blake replied, huffing with amusement as she met Yang’s lips in a feather-light kiss.

“Is it?” Yang asked, her breath hot on Blake’s lips as she kissed her again.

“Mm.” Blake smiled into the kiss, burying a hand into Yang’s hair to deepen the kiss.

_Love_ , _love_ , _love_. Her heart seemed to pound out the word; maybe instead of blood, it was love pumping through it. Blake was nearly overcome as she melted against Yang, as if the word might burst out of her skin. Could Yang feel it as they kissed? Could Yang taste the love on her tongue? Could she feel it, as real as they felt the heat from the fire?

Blake’s hand had settled on Yang’s waist, curving around her side. She pressed her hand harder, sliding it up slowly, feeling the shirt ride up with it. Yang’s breath hitched against Blake’s mouth. Taking it as encouragement, she slipped a finger under Yang’s shirt. Her skin was so smooth, and so warm. Daringly, she slid the rest of her hand underneath, lightly skidding over the skin of Yang’s back.

It felt good, just to touch skin.

As they kissed, as Blake’s hand roamed up Yang’s back, she was dimly aware that she was being urged down until she was laying back on the sheepskin, Yang hovering over her. It felt deliciously close, and Blake pulled her so close that there was hardly any space between them.

Yang broke the kiss off for a moment, brushing her fingers across Blake’s temple, her face flushed. “Blake,” she murmured, a tendril of blonde hair falling between them.

Blake kissed her again, silencing her. She felt Yang’s smile against her mouth, and felt it as Yang let her lips wander. They moved from the corner of her mouth and along Blake’s jaw, trailing down her neck to pause at the collar of her blouse. Then, she pressed a kiss to the exposed collarbone before lifting her head back up to gaze into Blake’s eyes.

Not breaking eye contact, she brought up a hand between them, bringing it to the top button of Blake’s shirt. She twisted the button between her fingers, her expression asking a silent question.

Chest heaving, Blake nodded.

Yang’s eyes darted down as she undid Blake’s buttons. She moved slowly, with care, surveying every inch of exposed skin. Blake’s nails dug into Yang’s back, holding her close as her breath came out shorter and shorter.

The way Yang touched her was so gentle, fingers trailing behind in a caress as she opened Blake’s shirt more and more. When there were only a couple buttons left, she moved her head down again, kissing across the expanse of Blake’s collarbone and down her chest.

Yang’s hand slid around her back, fumbling with the catch on her bra. Blake arched her back to help, feeling a strained mix of relief and nervousness as Yang eased it off of her. The tentativeness of Yang’s touch was so new, the way she kept looking to Blake for permission, was so different from everything she was used to. She trembled at Yang’s soft kisses down her body, her lips grazing every sensitive inch of skin.

And then Yang was pulling off her own shirt, almost haphazardly, tossing it aside before finding Blake’s lips again, kissing her with an edge of desperation that Blake could feel. The shock of soft skin against her own was almost too much; how many times had she dreamed of this, of the warmth of Yang’s body against her own?

_This_ was it, Blake realized, sudden panic washing over her as she felt Yang’s hand skim down her legs. _This_ was intimacy. _This_ was connection, joining, togetherness. It was something she wanted-- and so desperately needed-- but she could feel a small part of herself whispering at her, that this was not something she could have.

Her thoughts raced. This wasn’t intimacy. How could it be, when she had to go home every night and sleep in Adam’s bed? When she had to feel his embrace, and his rough lips against hers? She wanted to belong wholly to Yang, to feel her body, her heart, her soul. She wanted to be truly _one_ with Yang.

But none of that was possible with the shadows of Adam haunting her.

She stiffened. Yang, noticing her body language, froze.

“What’s wrong?” Yang asked anxiously, drawing her hand away.

“I-- I can’t do this,” Blake said in a hoarse whisper. She stared up at Yang over her, all over her beautifully freckled skin.

“Okay,” Yang replied, expression full of concern as she shifted off of Blake. “Did I hurt you?”

“N-no!” Blake stammered, shaking her head quickly. “It’s not that. I-- I _want_ this. I really do.”

“So what’s wrong?” Yang asked gently, picking up Blake’s shirt and handing it to her.

Blake took her shirt. Her first instinct would have been to cover herself, but that wasn’t really what she wanted. She dropped her shirt into her lap and sank against Yang, her whole body shaking. She took comfort from simple, innocent touch, in the way Yang held her and kissed the top of her head.

“I want you,” she said, her voice cracking. “But this… it isn’t fair to you.”

“I-- what?”

“I want to be _yours_ ,” Blake said, feeling a knot form in the back of her throat. “But I… I can’t be that while I’m still living with him.” She drew in a jagged breath, then tried to breathe it out more steadily. “I don’t… want him to taint what we have.”

“It’s okay,” Yang murmured. “I get it.”

“I’m sorry,” Blake whispered. “I wish… it wasn’t like this.”

Yang’s caresses on her skin were so gentle, not at all what Blake would have expected after a rejection, but for some reason, the softness only made Blake feel worse. Yang would have deserved to complain, or whine, or storm off, and Blake almost wished she would. Anger was something she knew how to weather. But this?

“I know,” Yang said in a low voice. “But you’ll get away, m’amhrán. I know you will. And we…”

She trailed off, and when Blake looked up, she saw a flash of confusion on Yang’s face before it was carefully smoothed away.

“ _We_ what?” Blake asked, curious. What had Yang intended to say?

“Nothing,” Yang said sheepishly, shaking her head. Blake raised an eyebrow, and Yang smiled in an embarrassed sort of way. “I was just going to say, that when we finally… do this. It’ll… be just us. It’ll be _about_ us, and _for_ us. And we won’t let anybody overshadow it.” She tilted her head, brushing Blake’s lips in a kiss. “It’ll just be us.”

“Just us,” Blake echoed, trying to ignore her pang of guilt as she looked down between them, eyes caught on the perfect curve of Yang’s bare collarbone. Then, Blake looked back up, latching onto a shred of courage. “What if… we could make that happen?”

“What?” Yang asked, brows furrowing.

“I could… I could stay here,” she replied, timidity causing her voice to rise in pitch. “Instead of saving my money through the winter… I could just stay with you instead. Here.”

“Here?” Yang repeated. “Through the whole winter?”

Blake’s heart fell. Yang’s eyes had widened, but it wasn’t in surprised eagerness; it was almost like… _fear_.

“I mean, I don’t have to,” Blake said quickly, desperate to do anything to get the fear out of Yang’s eyes. “It was just an idea.”

“Oh…” Yang bit her lip, now looking more confused than anything else. She hesitated, and that hesitation was all Blake needed to see.

Maybe Yang _didn’t_ see a future where they could be together. Maybe everything she’d said before, her implications about _it’ll just be us_ , were all words meant to mollify Blake. Or maybe Yang had dreamed of it, but never considered it could actually happen.

Either way, Blake got the point.

She pulled away, reaching for her bra. “Forget I asked,” she mumbled, not meeting Yang’s eyes as she put it on.

“Wait,” Yang said, reaching a hand out, trailing lightly across Blake’s wrist. Blake stopped what she was doing, looking down at Yang’s hand. Even now, when she was trying to get Blake’s attention, she was never forceful.

“What?” Blake asked dismally, finally looking back up.

“It’s… just a lot for me to think about,” Yang said, voice shaky. “I haven’t… it’s been years since I lived with anyone. Raven always said that it’s better for banshees to live alone, and after what happened with my mom… I figured that she was right.”

“I get it,” Blake replied, cutting her off, trying to ignore the burn of tears. She took a deep breath, keeping them back. “It scares you.”

“But being with you!” Yang said insistently, and Blake saw a glassiness in her eyes. “It’s been so different for me, so… _wonderful_ , being able to see you so often. But since you were planning to leave here… I tried not to think too far ahead.”

“Oh.” Blake swallowed thickly. 

Maybe they both hadn’t thought through this enough to make any permanent decisions. All she knew was that her heart ached; at the thought of not being wanted, of not having a future with her, of not even being able to be intimate…

“We can think on it,” Blake said, shoving her arms down her sleeves, hoping action would distract her from her own unhappiness. “We don’t have to decide anything right away. Or we’ll just… come up with a different plan.”

Thinking would buy them time, Blake told herself, trying to ignore her still-sinking heart. They could continue to live in the moment; if that was all they had, Blake was determined to hold onto it.

“What about Adam?” Yang asked, genuinely concerned. Blake waved a hand in dismissal before buttoning up her shirt.

“He’s fine,” she said truthfully. “Since I’m learning how to spin, he’s been optimistic.”

Adam _had_ been in a good mood lately, though it didn’t make Blake any less tense. In the past weeks, the most he’d done was grab at her arm a few times, and even that wasn’t done out of true anger. She was getting better, too, at identifying his moods and knowing when to back off. It wasn’t perfect, but it was tolerable. If she was careful, there’d be no danger.

“I’ll be fine,” Blake repeated, hoping her confidence was enough to convince Yang. Still looking uncertain, Yang nodded.

“And if you ever aren’t,” she said, giving Blake a sad smile, “come and find me. We can figure this out.”

Blake nodded slowly, feeling hollow as Yang finally reached for her clothes. She gave Yang’s smooth skin a last, lingering look as Yang pulled her shirt on, aching to feel that skin against hers once more. She hadn’t known what to expect when she’d asked to move in, but it wasn’t this.

_Yang, I think I’m in love with you,_ she wanted to say, going as far as to taste the words on her tongue.

But no. Saying them would only make the whole situation even more painful.

Blake swallowed the words back, and they nearly choked her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took longer than usual to write this! I got very much distracted by my 6/9 fic, [Strength](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24633574) which is VERY spicy and you would definitely need milk to wash that shit down.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Abuse/Violence

“I don’t get it,” Ilia said, frowning, sitting back in her seat as she watched Blake feed roving into the spinning wheel. “She said _no_?”

“That’s what I said,” Blake replied dourly.

Her foot pumped the treadle, still trying to find her steadiness, but her spinning still felt so uncontrolled. Any second, the roving might pull a little too quickly through her fingers, ruining the consistency of the yarn she was making. It was a task that would require focus until she got the hang of it, and focus was the last thing she had right then.

Between them, Sun sat on the floor, a carder in each hand. He paused in his work, looking up at Blake with a frown.

“Why?” he asked, tail swaying thoughtfully behind him. “I thought you said she loved you, right?”

“That’s what I thought.” Blake’s jaw was set as she let the soft wool slide through her fingers. “But the more I think about it, the more I doubt it.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I don’t think she sees… whatever we have, as something long-term,” Blake replied dully. “She said she didn’t really think about it. She’s lived on her own for so long, too, and she had a… bit of a bad experience, once, when she lived with people. I think the idea scares her a bit.”

Ilia’s brows furrowed and Sun’s shot up, but Blake didn’t elaborate. Doing so would expose Yang’s identity as the valley’s banshee, and she doubted they would be quite so understanding about that.

“And besides…” She paused, wishing there wasn’t such a clenching in her throat. “She’s known all along that I plan to leave. She probably just sees this as something… temporary. Something she can enjoy for a little while, but not get attached to. It’s probably safer for her, this way.”

“This is why you can’t trust a hermit,” Sun muttered, looking back down at his carding. Ilia shot him a glare, then looked back at Blake.

“I still don’t get it,” she said. “Last time, you were so _sure_ that she loved you back.”

“Well, maybe I got it wrong!” Blake stared furiously at the ever-revolving spinning wheel. If only she could, she’d go back in time and never ask Yang at all.

Fishing after that conversation had been awkward, which was a strange, new, unwelcome dynamic between them. More than once, it looked like Yang had wanted to say something, going so far as to open her mouth, but always covering it with a fake yawn or a forced laugh that Blake easily saw through. Even their kisses, which had been so natural between them, felt strained.

Had Blake ruined what they had? When she’d left Yang’s, a heaviness had hung in her stomach, a heaviness that she still felt days later. And what would it mean, for the next time Blake visited?

_Did_ she dare visit again?

It was an absurd question; even if she’d made things awkward, she still felt that love for Yang, so fierce in her heart. And she knew that Yang cared for her on _some_ level, even it wasn’t a long-term romantic love. But maybe, she thought guiltily, it was better to just let the visits cease, to let that love wither away rather than continuing to feed it with regular visits. Maybe it was better to just let it die.

“I’m not convinced,” Sun said at last, shoulders relaxing as he resumed carding.

“What?”

Blake’s foot twitched off the treadle, messing with her rhythm as she quickly tried to correct herself. Sun shrugged, and Ilia looked over at Blake’s spinning wheel, evaluating her movements.

“You’ve been visiting with her for months,” he pointed out. “That’s gotta count for something.”

“And you’ve been spending _hours_ of time with her every time you go,” Ilia said, seemingly satisfied enough with Blake’s spinning to resume her own carding. “Having tea, kissing her, doing gods-know-what with her--”

“ _Ilia!_ ”

“I _mean_ ,” Ilia said, waving a hand. “She seems to love spending time with you. She’s introduced you to her _family_ -”

“Only her sister!”

“--and from the way you talk about her, she obviously cares about you. To a point where you thought she might love you.” Ilia tilted her head and blinked her eyes balefully at Blake.

“I’m just saying, as someone who’s on the outside? It looks like love to me, too,” Sun agreed.

“Then why wouldn’t she want me to stay?” Blake asked, a crack in her voice. Ilia’s eyes softened, and Sun looked down at his carders.

“You said yourself that she had a bad experience living with people,” Ilia said. “Maybe she’s just afraid, and doesn’t know what to do.”

_You’re like my fire, Blake_ , Yang had said once. _Even if I burn, you’re worth it._

Maybe the fire had been too hot for Yang, after all.

“It doesn’t matter,” Blake mumbled, feeling her gloominess settle around her like a shroud. “It’s probably for the best that I go back to the city, anyway. It’ll be… better, with my family.”

“You’re not giving up?” Sun asked, almost incredulously, staring at her. Blake shrugged.

“I’ll enjoy my time with her,” Blake said, trying to give her words strength. “But if she doesn’t want anything more, I won’t push her. I’m not like-- I wouldn’t do that.”

Sun and Ilia exchanged a look, and Blake pretended not to see it. The roving pulled from between her fingers, a little too quickly and off-beat. She slowed her treadling to a stop, glaring at the yarn she’d made.

“You need to be a little more steady here, Blake,” Ilia said, standing up and coming around to the spinning wheel. She pulled a length of yarn from the bobbin, where Blake could truly see the extent of its unevenness. Some of it was narrow and brittle, and in some places, it was thick and lumpy.

“I know,” Blake replied, wincing. At least Ilia had more sense than to let Blake practice on the good wool; this coarse, messy yarn would be too useless to use.

“See, in places like this…” Ilia tapped a thin portion of the yarn, and ran it between her thumb and forefinger, “it’ll never hold up. One wrong move, and a little too much tension…”

Ilia pulled, and the yarn snapped apart. Blake flinched.

“It’ll break apart completely.”

“My yarn looked like that at first, too,” Sun added helpfully. “But you’ll find your rhythm, and it’ll be smooth sailing from there.”

Glumly, Blake tugged at the yarn around her bobbin, feeling the yarn’s unevenness between her fingers. The more she pulled, the more she saw those inconsistencies. All of the yarn on this spool would be worthless.

“It’s all about finding your rhythm,” Ilia added in agreement. “But you can’t let yourself give up on it. We all have to start somewhere. And this time, maybe you’ll make something worth keeping.”

With a sigh, Blake took up her roving again and began to spin.

\--

A few days before the solstice, it only seemed right that it should snow.

Over the past weeks, it had snowed on and off, leaving behind a decent layer on the ground. This, though, had the makings of the first real snowstorm of the year, with fat snowflakes and impermeable white clouds. Once in a while, a harsh wind blew, battering Blake’s face as she walked down the road toward town.

She really should’ve gone shopping the day before, she thought irritably, stomping through the new-fallen snow and pulling along a small sledge. But it wasn’t her fault Adam had only just come up with the idea of a small solstice feast. He’d given Blake extra money, and orders to buy enough ale for the two of them, a goose, and some other fixings. It would be their first winter solstice together, he had told her, and he’d make sure it’d be a solstice to remember. 

After all of his preaching about saving money, she felt a feast like this was somewhat extravagant and expensive. Still, she looked forward to it. Though it meant she’d be busy the next day, slaving over the stove, it would be nice to enjoy a hearty meal instead of their carefully-rationed fish.

The wind gusted again, whistling through the trees in its frantic song, and Blake pulled her shawl lower over her head.

But it wasn’t just the wind.

Blake froze, ears shooting up at attention. It was hard to hear over the rustling of the tree branches and screeching wind, but there was a song on that wind.

_Yang_.

It had been well over a week since she’d seen Yang, when she’d asked about moving in, and since then, Blake’s heart had pulsed with a steady ache. Even with all her doubts, she couldn’t let go of her love for Yang.

And now, Yang was singing again.

Blake let go of her sledge, stepping backwards, squinting through the swirling snow to see if she could catch a glimpse of Yang on the ridge. Even on a clear day, she knew she wouldn’t have been able to see her, and it was doubly impossible now. Still, it didn’t stop her from looking.

The sweet sound filled her ears, and Blake closed her eyes. Just hearing the song felt like balm for her soul, and for a moment, she could forget about the wind buffeting her face.

Listening to Yang’s voice echo through the valley took Blake to another time and place, when there were leaves on the trees and a brightly shining sun. Listening to the song, it was so easy to forget about her worries, and just think about all the good things they could share. She felt warmth on her skin-- sunlight. Or maybe it was Yang, her lips gently pressing against Blake’s skin. All around them, Blake could smell flowers, and Blake wanted to drown in that smell, to drown in _Yang_ , to surrender herself completely to this vision.

Gods, she loved Yang.

A part of her-- a wild, daring part of her-- was tempted to leave the sledge where it was, to make a break for the trees and climb the mountain, to find Yang there. She would wait until Yang had finished her singing, and then take her back to the cottage. She’d make tea to soothe Yang’s sore throat, and offer her a soft kiss while she rested. Blake’s heart pounded; she _needed_ to be with Yang.

She needed it so much that it nearly hurt when Blake forced herself back to the sledge. But she couldn’t stop and daydream, and she couldn’t tear off into the snowy woods. It was dangerous to do that in a snowstorm, she told herself. She could slip on the ice, or get lost, or get frostbite. 

She couldn’t be there for Yang now, as much as she longed to.

She forced herself along, though Yang’s song continued trying to lure her to the woods. She kept shooting glances upwards, wondering if Yang could see her. Would she even recognize Blake from all the way up there? Or was Blake so small and inconsequential that Yang wouldn’t even see her at all?

When Blake opened the door to the general store, all eyes were on her, everyone covering their ears while the door was open. Sheepishly, Blake slammed it behind her.

“Sorry,” she mumbled as everyone uncovered their ears.

“Be careful, Miss Belladonna,” Oobleck said at the counter, looking worried. “Did you hear the Lady singing out there?”

“I-- yeah. But I was already halfway here, so I didn’t want to turn back,” she replied, which wasn’t actually a lie. It was hard to remember, sometimes, that the townsfolk considered the song to be bad luck.

A few people nodded, immediately losing interest. Blake swallowed, stomping her boots to get rid of the snow.

“Did you cover your ears on the way here?” a gruff voice asked her. Blake looked over, and recognized the brute of a man as Cardin Winchester. She shrugged.

“It was hard to, since I was dragging a sledge,” she replied uncomfortably. He let out an ugly snort of laughter.

“I bet it’ll be you, then, since you listened to it for so long,” he sneered. Blake flushed, unsure of what to say, but she was saved when the older woman beside him smacked him with a glove. He grunted with surprise and rubbed his head.

“Why would you say something like that?”

“It was a joke, Ma!”

“You ought to stay here for a while, Miss Belladonna,” Oobleck said seriously, glancing out the window. “It’s never a good sign, when she sings during a storm.”

“How come?” Blake asked, truly curious. She knew that the song of a banshee wasn’t bad luck, but the fragments of associated superstition continued to fascinate her.

“A lot of times-- not always, but often enough-- it means someone is going to die in the storm,” Oobleck replied, taking a sip from his mug. “Falling through ice, or getting lost in the snows… snowstorms are always unforgiving.”

“I see.” Blake looked out the window, where the snow was falling more and more heavily. She shivered. “But that might happen even if she wasn’t singing, wouldn’t it?”

“Perhaps,” he conceded. “But when she sings, she ensures that it _will_.”

“Oh…” She bit her lip. It wouldn’t do any good to argue with this man, or with anyone else here, that people died in storms even without the foretelling of a banshee. They didn’t see the beauty in Yang’s songs. They didn’t hear whatever it was that had caused Blake to fall in love with the singer.

Though, maybe that was for the best, Blake thought a little selfishly. She stepped toward the window, straining her ears, desperate to hear it once more.

This way, it truly _was_ her song.

\--

Blake didn’t want to stay in the store for too long, but she felt the need to fulfill the social obligation of the superstition. She itched to return outdoors, back into the snow and into the song, but she restrained herself-- at least, for a little while. Long enough to tally her money, to decide how best to scrimp. The extra lien Adam had given her could mean extra lien to hide in her sock, if she played her cards right.

Yet each coin was a bitter weight; it was a reminder of her inevitable return to the city, and the shaky ground she stood on with Yang. It was hard to fathom leaving Yang, and her song, behind, but what choice did she have? She couldn’t-- wouldn’t-- stay with Adam, or where he could get to her.

Blake was out of options.

“You’re going already?” Oobleck asked, frowning as she paid. Blake nodded.

“I’m just going down the street to the butcher’s,” she said reassuringly. “I’ll cover my ears.”

“Ah, that’s a short enough walk,” he said, visibly relaxing. “Just don’t stay out too long, Miss Belladonna. It’s bad enough you heard the song as long as you did.”

“I know,” she replied, trying not to be irritated. “I’ll be okay.”

At least being back out in the open air, there was nothing to stop her from uncovering her ears. She couldn’t linger in the street to listen to the song-- people looking out windows would surely gawk at her-- but it felt good, having the melody fill her head and heart.

Hearing it, it was like Yang could’ve been just behind her, waiting for her.

Like Oobleck, the butcher seemed determined to keep Blake inside and away from the song, and for a time, Blake humored him. She sat on a bench near the stove, warming her hands, entertaining herself by listening to the speculation of the butcher and another customer.

It was morbid, the way they muttered among themselves, making guesses about who the song would be about. Maybe it was because there was little else to talk about in such a small town, but Blake had a feeling that it was a normal sort of discussion each time the song echoed through the valley.

“I bet it’s gonna be a storm death,” the butcher grunted, jutting his chin toward the window. “It’s never a coincidence, when she sings before a storm.”

“Aye, could be. Remember a couple years ago, when that kid got caught out in the woods?” The customer shook his head. “Poor thing was a block of ice.”

Blake grimaced. It sounded like a horrible way to go.

But it didn’t seem entirely outside the realm of possibility. In fact, that was her excuse to leave the butcher’s shop before Yang’s song had ended; though it was only the afternoon, the sky was already darkening, and the temperature was already beginning to plummet.

“I need to get home before it gets much colder,” Blake told the butcher, almost apologetic, as he set the goose onto her sledge. With thick earmuffs, she wasn’t sure how much he could hear, so she spoke loudly. “I’d really prefer not to freeze on the walk back. I’m not good with the cold.”

The butcher nodded, though his forehead was creased unhappily. “Do you have earmuffs, or something to plug your ears with?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, giving him as kind a smile as she could manage. “Thank you.”

“I know you don’t have banshees in the city,” he said. “But I’m sure plenty of people have already told you that it’s--”

“Bad luck to hear the song, I know.” Blake tried not to sound too exasperated. “I’ll be careful.”

Bad luck, she thought with a snort as she trudged away from the butcher shop, dragging the sledge behind her. Despite the heartache she’d been feeling since she last saw Yang, she couldn’t say Yang had ever brought her any bad luck. If anything, meeting her had been the best luck Blake had ever had.

As soon as she was out of sight of the village, she paused to look up toward Cnoc na Bumbóg. It had to be cold on those cliffs; the wind had to be strong up there. She hoped Yang was keeping warm.

Blake took a moment to close her eyes, inhaling the song, letting it fill her lungs and nourish her. She retreated to her daydream-- of Yang, holding her hand as they walked through the green woods-- and clung to it. It was a vision so real, so solid, that it was like stepping into a new, kinder reality. She imagined herself wrapping her arms around Yang’s waist, nuzzling her neck, and hearing Yang’s sweet, musical laughter.

This could’ve been their future, Blake thought sadly. This could have been theirs.

“Yang,” she whispered, just to say the name out loud.

Then, as if Yang might have heard her, the song came to an end, the last note dying away and fading into empty wind.

Blake blew out a long breath, opening her eyes, looking around as if she expected Yang to pop out from the trees. But she knew better; she was just as alone as she was before.

It was completely dark by the time she reached home, and Blake sagged with relief when she saw the light in their windows; she hadn’t even thought to bring a lantern with her, and the thought of having to kick her way through snow in the dark wasn’t an enjoyable one.

“Adam?” she called out as she pulled the door open. The room was well-lit with lamps, and a small fire crackled in the fireplace. But Adam was nowhere in sight.

She sighed. His absence meant that she would have to unload the sledge on her own. For once, she would have welcomed his help with carrying in the heavier goods, like the goose and the ale. So she worked by herself, regularly looking over her shoulder, expecting him to stride inside at any moment.

But he never did.

She kicked off her boots, exchanging them for slippers as she looked out the window. There were no lantern lights coming from any of the animal sheds, so Blake was still wary as she grabbed the handkerchief she’d stashed her extra coins in. Even if Adam wasn’t here, she would need to be careful when she hid them away in Yang’s sock. She never knew when he’d return, and she couldn’t risk being found out.

Unlike the kitchen, the bedroom was pitch black. She kept the handkerchief balled up in her hand as she peered in, making sure that Adam wasn’t lurking in the shadows. Only when she was satisfied that she was alone did she walk in and pull open the dresser drawer.

Immediately, her stomach sank, slithering down her body and onto the floor as she stared at the empty space where Yang’s yellow socks-- the ones she’d been hiding her money in-- should have been.

Frantically, she dug through the drawer, pushing aside the dull grays and browns of her other socks, hoping to catch a glimpse of yellow. But it didn’t appear, and Blake was sure she could have vomited. If they weren’t in the drawer…

“What are you looking for, Blake?”

She jumped; she couldn’t help it. Every nerve in her body was pulled taut, her muscles screeching with a sudden, desperate reflex.

“N-nothing,” she said, turning with a jerky twitch to face Adam. He stood in the doorway, semi-obscured in shadow. He strode forward, and something swung in his fist.

Something yellow.

“You’re lying,” he said lowly. Though his voice sounded calm, she could see the stiff aggression in the way he held himself. She stepped back, bumping into the wall, her handkerchief falling from her hand.

“Adam--” she began, but he didn’t give her time to finish. He moved so quickly, swinging the sock at her face before she could even register he’d raised it. He must have left the coins inside; she yelped with pain as something hard slammed into her cheekbone.

“How _long_ have you been lying to me, Blake?” he demanded angrily. He swung again, and this time, Blake was able to hold up her arm in time to block it. The coin-filled sock struck her arm, and she grunted as the hit landed. “ _Stealing_ from me?”

“I’m not _stealing_!” she argued, trying to angle herself away. “It’s just-- I sold stuff, and--”

“You _sold_ stuff?” Blake was close enough to see the fury in his eyes, and feel the staleness of his breath. He seized her shirt, keeping her from pulling away any further.

“My own stuff!” she clarified quickly, already bracing herself for another blow. “My earrings--”

“Nothing belongs just to you anymore,” he snapped. “You’re mine now, Blake. We’re _together_ now. Everything that’s yours is mine.”

“We’re not _married_!” she growled, wrenching herself out of his grip. There was a loud _rip_ as it tore her collar, but she didn’t care. “None of my stuff belongs to you, Adam!”

She should have expected the slap, but it still caught her off-guard. She cried out, clutching her face. Against her already-bruised cheek, she felt the pain twice over.

“You _are_ mine,” he hissed. He grabbed her arm, his grip tight. “And you always will be.”

He whipped her around, sending her flying into the ground, where she landed with a _thud_ and a groan. She curled her body instinctively, waiting for a kick that never came. For a moment, he said nothing, and Blake pressed a hand to her throbbing cheek.

“Get up,” he said, and when she didn’t right away, he slid a booted foot underneath her to push her forward. She stumbled, awkwardly trying to both stand herself upright and move toward the doorway. If she could just get out of his way--

His next kick was more forceful, and her arms splayed out, but she managed to grip the door jamb. His shadow loomed over her from behind, and she looked back up at him, panting for breath.

“Now, tell me, my love,” he said. He crouched down to her level, meeting her gaze evenly. “Why are you keeping our money hidden away like this? You know we don’t have much food, right?”

“Adam--”

“ _Tell_ me.”

She felt her breaths coming shorter and shorter. She coughed, buying herself an extra few seconds, but all the while, his fury burned.

“I’m going to go back to the city, Adam,” she said, her voice raspy but her own anger beginning to bubble up. “I’m not going to stay here. Not with you.”

She stiffened her whole body, preparing, while her eyes darted down to the sock he still held. He froze, not seeming to comprehend her words.

“You’re… leaving me?” he repeated. For the first time, perhaps in all the time she’d known him, she saw something new in his eyes, something different than the anger and indifference she’d come to know.

She saw _sadness._

But it was gone in a flash. His red brows drew close, his knuckles turning white where he gripped the sock. She knew he was going to swing it, and preemptively, she pushed herself away from the door and out of his reach. He swung, missing widely. Blake took advantage of the miss, grabbing the sock from his hand and yanking hard.

He stumbled as it pulled him off-balance, and for a beautiful moment, both the sock and the money it held was hers. Then, she saw Adam’s hand reflexively go to his belt, and the work knife sheathed there. Not waiting for him to draw it, she turned to run.

“You think you can just _leave_?” he yelled. He found his footing more quickly than she expected, and his reach was just long enough that he managed to grab her hair and _pull_. Blake cried out, falling backwards, the sock falling to the floor and spilling its contents.

“Let go!” she pleaded, trying to move backward-- anything to reduce the pain on her scalp. The moment she had any slack, however, he yanked again. At the same time, she felt a stab of hot pain in her hip and she screamed. Her eyes flickered down long enough to see his knife, shining an almost metallic red with her blood, being jerked out of her.

“I gave you everything you wanted!” he snarled. “ _You_ were the one who wanted a quiet life in the country! A chance to live off the land! And now you just want to throw that all away?”

“ _Adam!_ ”

He twisted her hair, and she screamed again, eyes watering, one shaking hand finding its way to the wound on her hip. She touched something wet, and the realization that it was blood-- _her_ blood-- nearly made her pass out.

He shoved her away, releasing her hair, and she collapsed. She was shaking, clutching her hip with one hand, and could feel sweat at her temples.

“You need me, my love,” he said, his voice chillingly quiet. “Maybe it’s time I remind you of that.”

She looked up at him, and saw no mercy in those cold blue eyes. She stared.

“You want to leave?” he asked, sounding so close to reasonable. She couldn’t respond. She could only focus on her breathing. “Then get out.”

“I… what?” Blake couldn’t process the words; they made no sense to her, like words spoken in another language.

“Get _out_!” he repeated. He pulled a leg back, aiming to kick, but Blake jerked away, moving toward the door. She used the doorknob to pull herself up, trying to bring herself upright before he could approach her again.

Stunned, Blake bent down, wincing, still clutching her side and reaching for her boots with her other hand. But Adam didn’t wait; he grabbed her by the collar, ripping it further, then wrenched the door open and shoved her out.

Blake landed badly in the snow, and it felt like the weight of her whole body fell onto her wounded hip. She cried out, rolling onto her back and pressing a hand to it. The falling snow overhead looked so dreamlike in the darkness, and Blake blinked slowly. Now she was aware of the coldness around her, the way it seeped into her shirt and leeched the warmth from her skin.

The door slammed, and Blake shot up, grunting with pain as the motion tugged at her wound. She forced herself to her feet and staggered toward the door, fumbling with the knob.

It was locked.

“Adam!” she yelled, bringing up her fist and slamming it on the door. There was no response, and Blake felt a flash of anger. “ _Adam_!”

She banged on the door again, trying to ignore the pain in her side, and the anger quickly turned to fear. She was still in her slippers and a torn shirt; this wasn’t an outfit meant for cold weather. How long was he going to leave her out here?

“Can you at least give me my boots?” she called through the door, voice bordering on desperate. She limped toward the window.

Adam stood on the other side of the glass, his face unyielding. Then, he pulled the curtain, and Blake’s heart sank.

He _was_ going to leave her out here, she realized, staring at the drawn curtains. He was going to let her freeze.

She pulled her sleeves down over her hands, flinching as she let go of her hip. Her left hand was bloody, but she supposed bloodstained clothes would be the least of her worries if she couldn’t get inside. Her toes, too, were feeling the cold brought on by the snow-dampened fabric of her slippers. The wind whipped around her, blowing her hair, making her shiver.

He probably expected her to crawl to one of the animal sheds, and bunk down with the sheep or even the chickens. Maybe the next morning, he would come out for her, offering to let her back inside if she admitted she’d stolen from him. He would want her total submission, and a promise that she wouldn’t do this again. Then, things could return to how they’d been before.

Adam was doing this to teach her a lesson, she thought numbly. This was nothing more than a power play.

And she was done with power plays. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of finding her huddled in an animal stall. No, she decided. She would never submit.

Blake gritted her teeth, stumbling back toward the door. She tried to turn the knob one last time, but it was locked. She was tempted to dig through the snow, to find a rock and break the window. She could do it.

But she also knew better. Adam would never let her get away with that, and the stab wound in her side was a painful reminder of what he was capable of.

Instead, she slammed her fist into the door one last time, momentarily flooding her body with the heat of indignant rage.

“ _Fuck_ you, Adam!” she screamed, then clutched her side with a groan. She turned, limping away into the snow.

She could go to Ilia’s, she thought, but dismissed the idea. Adam would know to look for her at either Ilia’s or Sun’s houses. Really, there was only one other place she _could_ go, her own anxieties be damned.

Blake leaned into the wind and staggered toward the woods.

Before she even hit the trees, she knew that she was in trouble. Her wound continued to throb beneath her hand, but her toes _hurt_ from the sheer cold. She curled them as much as she could, but her slippers were so cold and wet that it provided no relief. She shivered violently, wrapping her free arm over her front and sticking her hand into her armpit.

_Please, Yang,_ she thought desperately, _please find me_.

Though the snow didn’t fall as heavily in the woods, it still continued to drift down. It swirled around her dizzyingly, hypnotically. On the ground, the snow came up to her calves, though after dragging her feet through for it so long, she ceased to notice its depth; she was too cold, too numb, her frantic thoughts slowing to a halt. After a while, she didn’t even know if she was going the right way. Direction was meaningless, as was the passage of time, but Blake forced herself to keep marching forward.

She had to keep moving.

At one point, she tripped over her numb feet, falling into the snow. Her mind had sunk into a haze, and she couldn’t do more than moan when she landed. It was an almost out-of-body experience when she sat up, hardly able to string her thoughts together.

She was _cold_. That was the only thing that sank into her mind, like it was imprinted there. She couldn’t feel her fingers, or toes, or either set of ears. She’d never been so cold in her life, never had the warmth sucked out of her so thoroughly. She scooted herself forward against a tree and looked up blearily through its branches. All around her, snow kept falling.

No, this was more than cold. The cold she felt had moved past the point of pain. She was just _numb_.

She didn’t want to keep moving. She wanted to just sit here, to let nature claim her. Maybe she’d turn into a block of ice, just like in the story she’d overheard at the butcher shop.

Still, she thought with a very distant satisfaction, she’d die free from Adam’s clutches. She’d still _won_.

She reached up, grabbing a branch over her head and pulling herself up. There was still pain in her side, but she only felt it distantly, sparing no more than a fleeting thought for it.

_Yang_ , she thought again, managing another step forward.

She probably should have felt dismay when she saw one of her feet was totally bare; they were so numb, she supposed, that she hadn’t noticed when one of her slippers fell off. Grunting with exertion and a vague twinge of pain, she reached down and lifted a leg up, wrapping numb fingers around her toes.

They were stiff, ashen, and totally frigid. Blinking, Blake let her leg flop back down. She didn’t feel it. She didn’t shiver, she didn’t shake. She only stared at it.

She _was_ going to die here, she realized. There was no way she’d be able to walk deep enough into the forest for Yang to find her. She probably hadn’t even walked very far at all.

Her search for Yang was all for nothing.

But Blake’s mind was too far gone to feel fear, or even anxiety. Only a flicker of guilty regret. Now she’d never get a chance to tell Yang that she loved her. She should have done it before-- she should have done it the day she’d met Yang. She should have done it when she found Yang on the ridge. She should have done it when they’d held each other in front of the fire.

Now, she never would.

Her legs kept walking robotically, Blake lost in her own cloudy thoughts. She wondered if anything would change for Yang when she died, when the song that supposedly emanated from Blake suddenly fell silent. Would Yang know right away? Or… gods, would Yang be the one to find her? She hoped not; she couldn’t bear the thought of hurting Yang like that.

She should have told Yang. She should have just said the words.

Blake took another step, her eyes burning slightly, though when a couple tears fell, they turned cold on her cheeks.

_I love you, Yang_ , she thought to herself. _I’m sorry_.

Blake felt the ground shift. Or maybe it wasn’t the ground; the world seemed to slant slightly, as if she’d been struck by sudden vertigo. She stumbled and fell to the ground again, and this time, she couldn’t find even a scrap of energy.

She couldn’t rise again.

Instead, she somehow flopped onto her back. She caught a glimpse of a red stain on the white snow, and realized with dull indifference that it was her own blood, slowly pooling beneath her without the pressure of her hand to stop it. But she couldn’t bring herself to cover it again. Instead, she looked up at the sky, at the snow that floated starkly downward.

She thought of a toy she’d had as a child. A snowglobe that, when she cranked a knob at its base, would play a lullaby. At bedtime, Blake would shake the snowglobe, watching the little white specks swirl around the tiny house inside. She would sing along with the lullaby as she felt her eyes get heavy, and often, she was asleep before the song even stopped playing.

Blake felt that, maybe, she was inside a snowglobe of her own, watching the snowflakes tumble out of the sky. Maybe it would be Yang’s song that would lull her off to sleep. She could almost hear that song inside her head, swooping through her thoughts and spiraling around her heart.

She started to hum. With Yang’s song such a recent memory, it came to her easily. She didn’t know the words, but she probably couldn’t sing them, anyway. She was too exhausted, too weak. Even humming took a lot out of her, but it was comforting, to hold onto this last piece of Yang.

Little by little, her humming began to slow, the song getting weaker and weaker until it faded away into the cold air. Her eyes fluttered, and finally closed.

She didn’t know how long her eyes were closed, surrounded by the peaceful silence of the forest. But that silence was interrupted by a loud gasp, and an exclamation Blake couldn’t quite understand. She heard snow-muffled footfalls of someone running to her, and felt an arm slide under her back. It sat her up, but she couldn’t stop the way her head lolled to the side. Warm fingers pressed against her neck, looking for a pulse, and Blake let out a soft groan.

“ _Gods_! Blake, please wake up!”

Yang’s voice sounded raspy and choked. _Yang_. Blake’s eyes twitched open as she felt something soft settle around her, covering her. Her eyelids felt so heavy, but she was able to see the soft lilac eyes looking down at her, wide with fear. Yang let out a soft, broken moan of relief.

“ _Blake_ ,” she said in a sort of whimper, arms curling around Blake and pulling her close. Her warmth sent a weak shiver running down Blake’s spine. Yang adjusted, shifting her weight, and then she was lifting Blake, keeping her close against her body as she carried her through the trees.

“Yang,” Blake managed to murmur. Her teeth should have been chattering; why weren’t they chattering? Was it because she was dying?

She had to say it, before she did.

“I love you,” Blake said, hardly more than a whisper. “Should have… told you sooner.”

“Oh, Blake. Baby.” Yang was crying; Blake heard it in her hoarse voice, and felt a couple hot drops of tears fall on her face. “I love you, too. I was going to tell you-- I _should_ have told you--”

“It’s okay now,” Blake replied, giving Yang a serene smile. “Just... wanted to say it.”

“You’re gonna be okay. Okay?” Yang asked, though it sounded more like a plea than a reassurance. “We’re going home, and you’ll be okay. We’re right here, see?”

Blake tried to focus her eyes. She saw a clearing, and lights. Yang’s house? Had she walked all the way to Yang’s farm somehow?

She sighed, dropping her head against Yang’s shoulder, too tired to think about _how_ or _why_. She was here, and that was all that mattered.

“I’ve got you, m’amhrán,” Yang said softly. Blake felt warm lips press against her cold ones. “I’ve got you, and you’ll be okay.”

Blake’s thoughts slowed, unable to pick meaning out of them. But she felt the love in Yang’s words, and in her voice, and that was all she needed.

And with them, Blake finally felt peace. She closed her eyes, letting unconsciousness wash over her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL... this is probably as bad as it will get. It's all downhill from here. Trust me? Remember that I only write happy endings!! And I think we're getting close to it... maybe just a few chapters? I don't really know!
> 
> Thanks especially to one of my betas [Aziminil](https://aziminil.tumblr.com/) for a couple suggestions that really amped up the angstiness. If you want to yell at anyone, yell at her.
> 
> I'll try not to make y'all wait too long for the next update!!


	10. Chapter 10

Blake was cold.

_So_ cold.

She’d never been so cold in her whole life; it was a deep, all-consuming cold that made it nearly impossible to move, or even think. All of her thoughts slowed down to a standstill, and Blake only viewed them as distant things, as untouchable as frozen fish in a pond.

So with all the cold, maybe it was the warmth in the air around her that stirred her consciousness. She grabbed for that consciousness, like a drowning person might try to gasp for breath, bobbing for it even as it threatened to drag her back under. But just as that warmth awakened her, it might have been that same warmth that disoriented her, making the world around her seem unreal and dreamlike.

Dimly, she felt someone peeling off her clothes. Her first thought was _Adam_ ; had he found her? Was he doing this? If she hadn’t been so weak, she might have fought him, but she couldn’t move her limbs. She couldn’t even tell if she was breathing, if her chest was rising and falling. She couldn’t tell if she was even alive.

Maybe she was dead, Blake thought, almost indifferently. Maybe that was why she couldn’t move, why she was being stripped. Maybe she was being prepared for a burial, and she was stuck inside her own body, to watch impassively. The thought should have scared her more than it did, but her thoughts were too slow, too stupid. She was just a passenger, an observer, to her own body, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Something warm pressed against her front, and underneath her. Her own skin was so cold and clammy that it took her too long to recognize the sensation as another person’s body warmth, another person’s skin. She was on someone’s lap, taking in their heat.

This wasn’t a man’s body. This wasn’t Adam.

_Yang_ had been the one to find her. She remembered telling Yang that she loved her, and hearing Yang say it back. 

It was Yang who cradled her now, keeping her warm.

It was Yang, keeping her alive.

Something soft was thrown over her shoulders, tucked tightly around her. There was heat at her back, more foreign than Yang’s warmth against her front. To her cold body, it was almost too much heat, and it made her blood feel like it was burning.

“You’ll be okay, m’amhrán” she heard Yang murmur against her ear. Blake was vaguely aware that she was entirely limp against Yang’s frame, being rocked gently. “You’ll be okay.”

She wasn’t sure if Yang’s words were reassurance to herself, or to Blake, or if they were nothing more than a prayer. Either way, it was a relief just to hear Yang’s voice.

It sounded like a lullaby.

Consciousness ebbed in and out, always coming in the tiniest spurts. In most of those brief wakeful moments, Yang continued to hold her, always feeling more like a dream than reality. Maybe some of it _was_ a dream, or maybe even the afterlife; it wasn’t like Blake would have been able to tell the difference. Her brain was lost in a fog, barely able to distinguish one thought from another.

She _was_ able to distinguish the pain, however. The constant ache in her body, the throb of the wound on her hip, the steady burn in her fingers, toes, and ears.

At one point, she was aware of being on her back, on the sheepskin beside the fire, feeling something sharp in her hip. She groaned, managing to flop one hand down toward it.

“ _Shhh_ ,” Yang said softly, and Blake felt a hand gently push hers back. “I’m almost done.”

There was another jab in her hip, and this time, Blake couldn’t find it in herself to make another sound.

“Gods, what did he do to you?” Yang asked herself, almost too quietly to hear. There was a brokenness to her question, an odd crack in her voice, but Blake barely had the energy to understand her words. All she could do was try to crack her eyes open, and reach for Yang’s hand again.

It was only when she felt Yang’s fingers brush her wrist that Blake let unconsciousness wash over her once more.

\--

Blake didn’t know how long that bout of unconsciousness lasted. Maybe a few minutes, or maybe days. All she knew was that when she came to, she was cold again.

No. She wasn’t cold. She was warm. Hot, even. Nonetheless, she shivered, as if her body hadn’t yet realized that she no longer needed to, like the memory of cold overpowered any warmth she felt. Around her, arms tightened.

“Blake?” a hoarse voice asked.

Blake looked up, and saw Yang looking down at her, the lilac of her eyes flickering in the firelight. She looked exhausted, but alert, brows drawn in concern.

Again, Blake’s brain tried to catch up, and make sense of the world around her. She was still naked, cradled on Yang’s lap, both of them covered in a large blanket. They were on the floor, atop the sheepskin, in front of a roaring fire. She tried to shift, already beginning to worry about the burden she’d been for Yang, but Yang held fast. Not that Blake could move much, anyway; her whole body still felt achy and sluggish.

“You… found me,” she said feebly, closing her eyes against a wave of dizziness. She took a deep breath, hoping to stave it off.

“I always do,” Yang replied, and Blake could hear the choked relief in her voice. “Though, I think it’s safe to say _you_ found _me_ this time.”

“Huh?” Blake opened her eyes again, her vision still slightly unfocused. Yang shook her head.

“Never mind. How do you feel?” she asked gently.

“I feel...” she paused. Her voice was hardly more than a croak. “Not so good. Are you sure I’m not dead?” 

A tired smile tugged at Yang’s lips.

“No, baby,” she replied, brushing a strand of hair out of Blake’s face. “You’re very much alive.”

“Oh.” Blake closed her eyes again. “Good.”

Now she was aware of the burning sensation in her fingers, toes and ears. Her hip throbbed dully, but she supposed the pain was further proof that she was alive. Experimentally, she wiggled her fingers one at a time, then her toes. Were they frostbitten? Were they even there at all?

Suddenly worried, Blake tugged the blanket over her leg, awkwardly stretching out her foot and letting it dangle off of Yang’s lap. To her surprise, all five of her toes were still on her feet, as healthy and whole and robust as they always were.

“You okay?” Yang asked worriedly, reaching across to cover her foot back up with the blanket.

“Yeah,” Blake said, tucking her leg back in and collapsing back against Yang’s body. The motion strained her hip, and she winced. The more her consciousness came back to her, the more her pain grew. She could remember being beaten, being stabbed, remembered seeing blood in the snow. She pulled an arm out from underneath the blanket, too tired to care about exposed skin, and let her hand hover over the spot where she’d been wounded. She was almost afraid to look.

“I stitched you up as best I could,” Yang explained, seeing where Blake’s hand was. When Blake turned her head back to her, she saw a question in her eyes. But Yang didn’t ask it aloud, only going on to say, “It was… pretty deep.”

Curiosity got the better of her. Blake pulled the blanket, gingerly tugging it over the wound. A short line of neat stitches ran across her brown skin. Yang truly _was_ a good healer, for the stitches looked like a tidy and even seam. Certainly better-looking than any sewing Blake had ever done. Any scar left behind would be a clean one.

“It looks good,” she said at last, though she felt slightly nauseous as she tried to smooth the blanket back over it. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she leaned back against Yang, closing her eyes.

“Hey, you all right?”

“Mm.” Blake took a deep breath, then opened her eyes again. None of this felt quite real. She watched, somewhat dazed, as Yang straightened a little. Still keeping a hold of Blake, Yang reached a long, freckled arm toward the end table and the mug that had been set on it.

“It’s not as hot now,” she said apologetically, holding it to Blake’s lips. “But you need to drink.”

Blake didn’t have the energy to fight, or try to take the mug from her. She let Yang press it to her lips, and carefully tip it into her mouth. Blake took slow sips, tasting ginger tea. Yang must have sweetened it with honey, because there was a lingering sweetness behind the spice. 

Even if it wasn’t completely hot, its warmth flooded Blake’s body, making her shiver again. She was just sleepy and uncoordinated enough that some of the tea leaked out of the corners of her mouth, but Yang was ready with a napkin to dab it away. Maybe if Blake had been a little more aware, she would’ve been embarrassed, but for now, all she could find was gratitude for the liquid; she hadn’t realized how dry her throat was, and she licked her lips when Yang set the mug back on the table.

“Did you drug it?” Blake asked, with only mild suspicion. For all Yang’s tiredness, she looked amused.

“Do you want me to?” she replied. Blake thought about it, then shook her head. She leaned back against Yang, who drew the blanket back up over her shoulders, cocooning both of them in it.

“I think I’m good,” she said thickly. “I just… need to rest a little more.”

“Take your time,” Yang murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For a while, they sat silently, with the only sound coming from the crackling of the fire and the occasional rattle of the wind on the windows. It was a miracle she hadn’t died, she thought, nestling her face into Yang’s neck. By all rights, she _should_ be dead.

But even after everything Adam had put her through, and against every odd, Blake was _alive_.

She dozed off again, resting her head over Yang’s heart, taking its steady beat as reassurance during her hazy moments of wakefulness. Once in a while, she could feel Yang shifting underneath her, adjusting herself to a more comfortable position, and through each adjustment, Blake was as limp as a ragdoll. But then Yang would stroke her arm, or kiss her forehead, and Blake would sink closer against her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so definitively safe, so relieved… so _loved_.

When she opened her eyes again, cold winter light was beginning to leak in through the windows. At least it was warm inside, and Blake shivered again as she remembered how cold she’d been the evening before. That chill was like a recurring nightmare, but being in Yang’s arms always chased it away.

“Yang?” Blake asked sleepily.

“Yeah?” Yang ran her fingers through Blake’s hair, and the caress was so soothing that Blake closed her eyes again for a moment. “How are you feeling?”

“Not… too great,” she admitted, her head feeling too heavy to pull away from Yang’s chest. Though she knew she had a good reason to not feel well, she hated her own helplessness. “I’m sorry about all this. I didn’t mean to put you in… this sort of position.”

“Don’t apologize,” Yang said firmly, a finger coiling around a strand of hair. “I’m just glad I found you.” She paused. “I don’t think I could’ve lived with the… alternative.”

Blake’s ears flattened, and she nuzzled against Yang’s shoulder. Silence fell again.

“I’m… surprised I didn’t lose my toes to frostbite or something,” Blake said at last, wiggling her toes again, reassuring herself that they were still there. “I lost one of my slippers, trying to get here.”

“I saw that.” Yang smiled weakly. “You were totally barefoot by the time I found you. And you _were_ frostbitten. And hypothermic. _And_ bleeding. You’re still pretty banged up.”

“Yeah…” Blake’s gaze flickered down. She wished she could get the memories out of her mind, of Adam in her face, of his knife driving into her hip, of a coin-filled sock slamming into her cheek. Absently, she put a hand to her cheek, wincing with pain. Thinking back to that moment was like trying to recount a nightmare. Then, she looked back at Yang, eyes searching hers. 

A part of her was tempted to tell her everything, to open up and lance the infection of her own hurt. Yang would have listened, she knew. She would have listened, and comforted, and healed.

But it would have been too draining; she was tired enough as it was. She didn’t even want to _think_ about Adam, let alone talk about him.

“So how _am_ I alive?” she asked instead. Later, she decided. When she wasn’t so exhausted.

“I was able to thaw out the frostbite with a little magic,” Yang explained, watching Blake’s hand retreat back under the blanket. Blake felt Yang’s fingers entwine with hers, and Blake clung to her hand like a lifeline. “It was still fresh enough that it wasn’t too hard to reverse. You… might have lost some toes otherwise. Maybe parts of your ears, too.”

“Thanks for saving them,” Blake said, smiling a little. Yang returned it.

“I figured you’d want to keep them,” she replied, almost teasingly. She went on. “Anyway, then it was just a matter of giving you stitches and keeping you warm. Gods, m’amhrán, you were so _cold_.”

Blake nodded slowly. That cold was still too fresh in her memory, and it almost made her want to shudder again just from thinking about it.

“I always did say I’m not good with the cold,” she said meekly. Yang let out a laugh. It was good to hear that laughter again, and it made Blake smile.

“You did, didn’t you?” Yang replied, fondness in her voice as she leaned down to kiss Blake’s forehead. She released Blake’s hand, pulling an arm back out to stroke Blake’s hair again. She gazed so softly into her eyes.

“But I know you’ll keep me warm,” Blake murmured. “You’ve done a great job with it so far.”

At this, Yang blushed. “Skin-on-skin is supposed to be the best way to help regulate body temperature,” she said apologetically. “Which is why we’re… like this. But since you’re warm now, and awake, we can always--”

“It’s okay,” Blake said quickly, feeling her own face heat up. “We can… stay like this. If that’s all right.” She paused. She was definitely feeling warm now. “It’s… nice. With you.”

“Yeah,” Yang replied, just as quickly. “Just… as long as it’s okay with you.” She bit her lip, then added, “I… like being able to hold you.”

“Then keep holding me.” Blake looked up, giving Yang an embarrassed sort of smile. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

Yang returned the smile. She looked tired, with dark circles under her eyes and stray hairs curling at her temples. But she brushed her lips against Blake’s in a gentle kiss.

“I love you,” Yang murmured, enunciating each word slowly, with care. “I won’t let go.”

Blake’s heart felt so full, making her feel warmer than any fire ever could. It was easy to think past the pain, and the discomfort, and the exhaustion when she was able to look into Yang’s eyes. She reached a hand out from beneath the blanket, burying her fingers into Yang’s hair, pulling her closer in order to kiss her again.

When they broke apart, Blake let her hand trail down Yang’s cheek, brushing over her lips with her thumb. She felt Yang’s lips curl into a smile.

“You look tired,” Blake said, fingers sliding along Yang’s jaw. “Have you slept at all?”

“I…” Yang hesitated. “When I could.”

“Yang,” Blake said with a sigh. 

“I wanted to keep you in front of the fire,” Yang explained, eyes flickering over to it. “It would’ve been colder in bed, at least at first, and I didn’t want to move you until I knew you’d be okay.”

“And I will be.” Blake kissed her again. “So if you’d rather go to bed, you can.”

Yang appeared to consider it, and then nodded. “That… would probably be a good idea. Would you rather stay out here? With the fire?”

Blake smiled, and managed a low chuckle. “You’re the only fire I need.”

“I think you stole that line from me,” Yang teased, and Blake shrugged innocently and gave her a serene smile.

“It was a good one.”

Yang let out a laugh and, without warning, began to rise. Blake moved to get off her lap, but Yang didn’t let go, fixing the blanket over Blake as she lifted her in her arms. Yang winced a little, stretching out her feet and rolling her ankles, keeping a careful hold of Blake.

“I can probably walk,” Blake insisted, even as she grimaced with pain when the movement tugged on her stitches. Her whole body was incredibly sore and weak, but hated the thought of causing Yang any discomfort.

“Baby, you nearly died last night,” Yang said, taking on a more sober tone. She kissed Blake on the forehead. “This is the least I can do. Besides.” Her thumb brushed Blake’s arm. “I’m still not ready to let go yet.”

It was a short walk to Yang’s bedroom, and Blake felt a guilty twinge of enjoyment at being in Yang’s arms. No one had ever held her like this before, but it was so tender, so protective, and so _right_.

How had she lived for so long without being held like this?

Yang shifted Blake’s weight to pull back the blankets, then gently set her down. The brief moment of separation from Yang’s body heat made Blake shiver, but Yang slid down into bed beside her without a second’s pause. Automatically, Blake curled against her, and Yang wrapped her arms around her waist to pull her close. Her skin was so warm, and Blake sank into it, pressing her face against Yang’s shoulder.

Blake had never been in Yang’s bed before; she’d hardly done more than peek into her bedroom a few times. Though the bed was small, it was soft, the blankets and pillows smelling like the mix of herbs that Blake had come to associate with Yang. Laying in her bed, it was like Blake was drowning in her scent, and it was dizzyingly comforting.

“I know you… weren’t that keen on me living here,” Blake said hesitantly. With Yang at her level, it was easier to meet her eyes without exhausting herself. “If… you’d rather, as soon as I’m feeling good enough, I can hide out with a friend until spring. I can always--”

“Blake,” Yang said, interrupting her gently. She opened her mouth, then closed it, like she was thinking of what to say. 

Blake waited.

“When… I sang yesterday,” she said slowly. She rolled onto her back, looking up at the ceiling. “I could… I could tell that it was a song for you. And I…”

Yang closed her eyes and drew in a breath, and it sounded jagged and raw, like she was trying to hold back emotion.

“I… _knew_ it was for you,” she said, brows drawing together, still not opening her eyes. “I could feel it in my blood. It was so strong. And I… I didn’t know what to do.”

“Yang,” Blake said softly.

“It was my worst fear come true,” Yang whispered. “Everything I was afraid of… it was happening. It was inevitable. And it was going to happen whether you lived with me or not.”

Her voice cracked on the last word, and she draped her arm over her eyes.

“I _did_ want you here. All along, I’ve wanted you to be... here, with me. All I’ve been able to think about is what it could be like, living with you. But when you asked the other day… I just couldn’t do it. I was too afraid.” Yang swallowed audibly. “And as I was singing... all I could think about was how much I regretted it. That I picked fear, instead of you.”

Though Yang’s arm covered her eyes, Blake saw a tear roll down the side of her face. Blake reached out a hand, setting it on Yang’s arm, gently urging it down. Yang resisted for a second, then gave in, lowering it and tilting her head to look back at Blake. There were still tears in her eyes, blurring the soft purple. Seeing this, Blake could feel tears pricking behind her own eyes.

“It made me realize,” Yang went on quietly, voice cracking. “I can’t stop fate. Keeping you at arm’s length isn’t going to stop whatever might happen. Gods.” Her laugh sounded brittle. “Maybe if I’d been a little more brave-- if I let you move here when you asked-- this wouldn’t have happened to you at all.”

“ _Don’t_ blame yourself for this,” Blake said firmly. “I was the one who made every choice that led to this. Not you.” She paused, swallowing a lump in her throat. “I never wanted you to feel any… obligation, or-- or _responsibility_ \--”

“It’s not obligation,” Yang interrupted, cupping Blake’s cheek, careful not to press against the bruise there. “I’ve _wanted_ you with me. Because I do love you, Blake.” When Yang blinked, another tear dropped from her eye. “I think I’ve loved you this whole time. Even in the very beginning. And I _want_ you to stay here, to… make your home here. With me.” Her smile was weak. “I just wish I’d been brave enough to admit it sooner.”

Blake opened her mouth to speak, but it felt like she was choking on her unshed tears. Yang’s cheeks had been steadily turning redder and redder, though Blake couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or the blotchiness that came from crying.

“And if-- and if you don’t want to stay here forever,” she added hastily. “I’ve got a little coin of my own-- for emergencies, I mean-- I can give it to you, and when you’re well enough again, you can go back to the city, and--”

“Of course I want to stay,” Blake said, wriggling closer, wincing a little as it pulled at her stitches. But it was worth it, when she could press her forehead against Yang’s. Underneath the covers, it was so warm and comfortable and so wonderfully _close_. “I’d never have asked if I didn’t want it. Yang, being with you… I’ve felt more at home in these woods than I ever felt with Adam. Yang, you… you _are_ my home.”

Yang smoothed Blake’s hair, looking radiant with tear streaks and tired adoration. Blake closed her eyes. Even when the rest of her body hurt, there was so much comfort she could take in the gentle way Yang stroked her hair. Blake took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to chase the tears back.

“I love you,” she murmured. “So much.”

Yang slid her arm around Blake’s back, pulling her carefully closer. Blake sank into her form, burying her face in Yang’s neck.

“And I love you,” Yang replied, kissing the top of her head. “I don’t… I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’d never… I’d never been so scared to sing before, not knowing what it would mean for you…”

“It was a beautiful song,” Blake said. The memory of that song had been the one thing she’d found solace in as she lay dying in the woods. She looked up at Yang, giving her a weak smile. “Even if it was… stressful to sing. It was so beautiful.”

“It was so strong,” Yang said softly. “I’ve never… I’ve never felt a song like that before. I would’ve expected something like this to be some sort of… major event, or something. Instead… it was about _you_. I’ve never felt anything like it, and if it didn’t foretell your death… I don’t really know what it means.” She released a shaky breath. “I just know it was _strong_ , and _important_ , and _yours_. And…” She shook her head, then closed her eyes, as if thinking what else to say.

No, not thinking. Blake had seen this expression on her face before. It was like a meditation, a deep focus on the world around her. She was feeling for change in the air.

She was feeling for Blake’s song.

“And it’s not over,” Yang murmured. She opened her eyes, relief lighting her eyes. “M’amhrán. I’m so glad your song isn’t over yet.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Blake replied, pressing a kiss to Yang’s lips. “I think… it’s only just beginning. And it’ll be _our_ song this time, not just mine.” She gave Yang a lopsided smile. “Maybe that’s what your song was for.”

They were both smiling when they kissed again, taking a few moments to fully savor the quiet and gentleness of each other. Time slowed, enveloping them in a sleepy peace. Blake could feel her eyelids growing heavy again, but she didn’t let them close.

“Everyone probably _will_ think it was a death song, though,” Blake remarked, sinking even deeper into Yang. “Adam probably thinks I’m dead now.”

“Adam,” Yang growled. “He did this to you.”

“Yes.” At this, Blake did close her eyes.

“Can… I ask…?”

“Yeah.” Blake sighed. “I’ve been-- I _was_ \-- trying to stash away a little money. To get out of White Fang, if you didn’t want… I mean.” She smiled weakly. “I guess that’s a moot point now. But before… it was what I was going to use to pay for my passage back to the city.”

Yang nodded. She listened attentively, but did not interrupt. Blake almost wished she would; any light-hearted break in the conversation would have made it easier to recount what had happened the day before.

“When I got home from shopping yesterday… Adam had found all the coins I’d saved.” She tried to keep her tone detached, as if she were simply telling a story rather than speaking about something personal. “So I… told him the truth. That I was going to leave. And then he… did this. And told me to leave.”

“In a snowstorm,” Yang said, voice hardening. “Without any shoes.”

“Slippers,” Blake corrected, though the point still remained.

“He could’ve killed you.” Yang’s hand stroked Blake’s back, somewhat protectively. “He nearly did.”

“He probably expected me to sleep with the sheep or something,” she replied softly, ears flattening at the steady touch. “Then he would’ve come for me the next morning. To… make me apologize, or something.” She shuddered. How far would he have gone to try to teach her a lesson? “I wonder what he’ll do once he realizes I’m gone.”

“It doesn’t matter. He can’t find you here. He won’t touch you again.” Yang pressed her lips to Blake’s forehead, but didn’t pull away immediately. 

And Blake found that she _believed_ Yang’s words. Here, she could have a fresh start, without needing to fear the eggshells she’d constantly stepped on. No one _would_ hurt her here. She really _was_ safe.

She did feel a twinge of guilt at the idea of her supposed death-- what would Adam tell the townsfolk? What would Sun or Ilia say? Worse, who would tell her parents? Uneasily, she tamped down that worry; maybe, once she was well again, she could visit Ilia and explain what had happened. But that was a question for another day. For now, she didn’t think she could even get out of bed on her own.

“He won’t,” Blake agreed, dipping an arm around Yang’s waist. She curled her fingers and pressed them against Yang’s skin, enjoying her warmth and luxuriating in its softness. “Just… being around you feels so much safer… better… than it ever was with him. I’m… so glad I can be with you.”

“And I’m so, _so_ glad you’re here,” Yang murmured. “I _want_ this life with you. I want… a _future_ with you.”

“And that’s all I want,” Blake said softly. She bit her lip, and smiled a little. “It’s… kind of funny. When I heard you singing… I could almost picture it. Almost like a vision. What a future with you might look like. And it was… everything I could have dreamed of. Like, the exact kind of life I moved out here for. And I could picture all of it with you.”

“A vision?” Yang repeated, pushing herself up slightly. “What kind of vision?”

“Maybe _vision_ was the wrong word for it,” she corrected, feeling her cheeks grow hotter. “I guess it was more like… a daydream, or something.” She paused, remembering how intensely it felt. It had been like she _was_ there, smelling the flowers, feeling the sun’s rays. Then, she admitted, “A vivid one.”

Yang frowned thoughtfully, giving Blake such a strange look that she tried to sit up, too. But the movement pulled at her side, and with a pained grunt, she slid back down. Yang’s expression shifted to worry, and used a hand to steady her. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good…” Blake said, grimacing as she cupped a hand over her wound. “But what was that look for?”

“Oh!” Yang gave her a sheepish, reassuring smile. “I was just… curious. About how you said _vision_.”

“How come?”

“It’s…” Yang frowned again. “I’m wondering if maybe it _wasn’t_ just a daydream.”

“What do you mean?” Blake asked. She didn’t know if it was because of her hazy tiredness or if Yang was making a point she just didn’t catch, but Blake didn’t understand. “What else would it be?”

“I’ve been… thinking a bit. About how you got here last night,” Yang said slowly, but there was an odd sparkle of excitement behind her eyes.

“I’ve been trying _not_ to think about it,” Blake grumbled, to which Yang smiled.

“And you don’t have to,” she replied soothingly, running her hand along Blake’s side, carefully avoiding her stitches. “It’s just… I’ve been trying to figure out how it was even possible. When I found you, you were right outside the bounds of my cloaking spell. Usually, I can sense you when you’re much further away, but when I found you, you were as close to me as you could’ve gotten.”

“What?”

“In the middle of a snowstorm-- without any shoes, or cloak, or any help-- you managed to get as close to my house as you could. That shouldn’t have been possible. At all.”

“I’m… not sure,” Blake said slowly, trying to think back to how she might’ve gotten there. “I mean, I tried heading in the right direction, but I don’t think I’ve ever gotten this far on my own.”

“Exactly,” Yang said, nodding. “I think…” She stopped, regarding Blake uncertainly. “Between that, and now you’re saying you had visions--”

“They weren’t _visions_ ,” Blake said firmly, but Yang raised an eyebrow.

“Even if you weren’t having visions… it should’ve been impossible for you to get here, especially in the condition you were in. I think, at the very least, you’ve developed some kind of connection with the forest,” Yang said, a quiver in her voice betraying her excitement.

“Huh?”

“I think you might’ve used magic, Blake,” Yang replied softly, a hand coming up to stroke Blake’s hair again. 

“Magic?” Blake asked stupidly. Yang nodded.

“Remember how I told you, once, about how I _walk_ through the forest? It only takes minutes to go to the places I’m connected to-- my house, the ridge. You, when you’re close enough for me to feel your song.” Yang’s thumb brushed Blake’s temple. “I think you might’ve found me that way. Somehow.”

“How?” Blake frowned. “I didn’t use any spells or anything.”

“Everyone expresses magic in different ways, with their own strengths and abilities,” Yang explained. “I’m not sure why it’s just developing for you now. When you were growing up, did you ever have any strange things happen around you?”

“I don’t know,” Blake replied tiredly. “But I’m not doing so well with thinking right now.”

“Of course!” Yang said, blushing slightly, the pink in her cheeks dappled by her freckles. It was cute, Blake thought dumbly. “It’s just something we can think about when you’re feeling better.”

“Or maybe love was the magic all along,” Blake mumbled, smiling at her own cheesiness. Yang’s gaze softened, and she brushed a kiss against her lips.

“Summer used to say something like that,” Yang remarked. “Maybe she was being more serious than we thought.”

“Maybe.” Blake’s eyelids were feeling heavier with each passing second. “I never really thought about it. But if anyone could bring out any magic in me, it’d be you.”

“Oh, m’amhrán,” Yang murmured. “My love.”

Blake nestled her head against Yang’s neck, feeling her breaths come more and more deeply. This was different from the night before, when she hadn’t expected to wake up again. This time, she was warm, and though her body ached too much to feel good, she was comfortable enough in Yang’s arms, in her bed. She could go to sleep, knowing that when she awoke, there _would_ be a future.

A future for both of them.

“I love you,” Blake said, managing to get all the words out before they were swallowed by a yawn. Yang laughed, and Blake bobbed with the motion.

“I love you, too,” she replied, combing her fingers through Blake’s hair. “But you should probably get some more sleep. After last night, you need it.”

“Mmm,” Blake said, already halfway there. It would be the first time in months that she’d be happy sleeping in someone’s arms, that she wouldn’t wake up on the very edge of the bed.

So this was how it was, she thought as she drifted off, to sleep beside someone she loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The user lucent-kairos on tumblr made [a BEAUTIFUL comic](https://lucent-kairos.tumblr.com/post/622197739812421632/spoiler-alert-to-pugoata-fic-banshee-chapter) of the last scene in the last chapter and I'm still INCREDIBLY emo over it. So please go enjoy it!!
> 
> Also, I think the fic is winding down... I think three, maybe four chapters left, if I can get my act together. We shall see~


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW towards the end!

The next few days were a blur.

As if Blake’s body was overcompensating for the hypothermia, a fever set in, unpleasant enough to make her writhe in the bed, and sweat, and shiver. Yang was a constant presence, always nearby to bring her tea and offer comfort. This certainly wasn’t the way Blake expected to celebrate the winter solstice, but she supposed it was leagues better than spending it with Adam.

“There’s just no end to it,” Blake grumbled tiredly, taking a sip of the bitter tea Yang kept at the ready for her. It was supposed to help bring the fever down, though Blake still felt too hot to tell whether or not it actually worked.

“I’m sorry, m’amhrán,” Yang replied with a sad smile, taking the mug from Blake’s hands. She set it down, and resumed her sewing. “But you’re doing well. This will pass.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” Blake sank back down against her, curling up carefully in order to not strain her stitches. “I hate feeling so useless.”

“You’re not useless,” Yang replied, leaning over her to give her a kiss. Her lips were cool against Blake’s. “You’re sick. You’re allowed time to heal.”

“I’m not used to just... laying around,” she muttered. “It feels lazy.”

“You’re not lazy, and you’re not useless,” Yang said firmly. Then, she softened, and Blake saw the hint of sadness in the crease in her brow. “I hate that he made you believe that.”

“Sorry,” Blake mumbled, feeling sweat bead on her forehead. She wiped it on the back of her hand, then closed her eyes. Maybe, if she fell asleep, she’d wake up a little less hot and sweaty.

“It’s nothing to apologize for,” Yang said soothingly, and Blake felt a soft touch at her temple. She knew her hair was damp with sweat, but Yang never complained as she combed her fingers through it. “We’ll get all of that out of your head. Soon, you’ll be able to see yourself in the same wonderful way that I do.”

Blake groaned, and Yang chuckled. “You have too much faith in me.”

“It’s nothing you don’t deserve,” Yang replied. Her hand pulled away, and when Blake opened one bleary eye, she saw Yang had returned to her sewing project.

Even seeing Yang sew made Blake feel a pang of guilt. Since Blake had no clothes, Yang was keeping herself busy by hemming some of her old pairs of pants for Blake to wear. Though Yang had assured her that she had enough to share with Blake, it still felt like an inconvenience. She should have at least been able to help Yang with the sewing.

Instead, she was still stuck in bed, too shaky and ill to do much of anything.

“I’m just sorry this is the way you’re spending your first winter solstice here,” Yang added apologetically, making a face. “I would’ve made a good dinner. I don’t get to show off my cooking much.”

“I already know you’re a good cook.”

“Well, I would’ve made our solstice dinner even better!” Yang smiled a little. “I would’ve roasted a turkey, made some potatoes, biscuits...”

“Oh?” Blake smiled, amused by Yang’s enthusiasm. “That sounds good.”

Though being sick left Blake with no appetite, she was looking forward to more of Yang’s hearty, flavorful cooking. Blake had never been much of a good cook, and though she’d improved a little in the months since she’d arrived in White Fang, none of her meals could hold a candle to Yang’s. 

“Even if it’s a few days late, I’ll still cook something good for a belated solstice dinner. How’s that sound?” Yang asked cheerfully. 

“Like I’d ever turn down your cooking,” Blake replied with a weak laugh. Yang’s smile turned smug.

“Then you’re on. We can still celebrate in our own way.” She paused, an embarrassed flush crossing over her face. “Though… can I still give you your solstice gift today?”

“You-- what?!” Blake pushed herself up, feeling the guilt trying to double down inside her. “But-- I didn’t get you anything. Why did--?”

“Hush,” Yang murmured, continuing to smile as she pushed a needle through the fabric. “It’s a simple thing, and something I needed to give you anyway.”

“But you’ve already done too much for me,” Blake protested, wiping her forehead again. It was like her worry was making her sweat even _more_ , if that was even possible. “And I don’t even have anything to give _you_.”

“Are you kidding?” Yang bit her lip, and though she was focused on her needle, Blake could see a blush in her cheeks. “You… you’re probably the best solstice gift I ever could’ve gotten.”

“I…” Blake swallowed hard. How could Yang see her as a gift when she’d been nothing but a burden?

“Anyway!” Yang interrupted, jamming her needle through the fabric again. When it poked through, she set her sewing down again, then pushed herself out of bed. Blake watched, eyebrows raised, as she darted into the other room. There was a rustling sound, and Blake cocked an ear.

When Yang returned, she was holding a small, rectangular box.

“I know it isn’t much of a gift,” she said sheepishly, taking a seat back down beside Blake. “Especially considering I was going to give this to you anyway. But since it’s the solstice, it feels like a good time.”

She handed the wooden box to Blake, who took it with a questioning eyebrow. Yang gave her a bright smile. With a smile of her own, Blake removed the lid.

Inside the box was a key.

It was an old-looking key, tarnished gold with chunky teeth. The key’s handle was elaborate, looking almost like a heart blazing with fire. Blake picked it up, tracing the design with her thumb.

“What is this for?” she asked, genuinely curious. Yang had no need for a lock, since her cloaking spell kept the whole farm hidden, so it surprised Blake that she had a key at all.

“It’s in case you need to leave the farm for any reason,” Yang explained, setting a hand at the small of Blake’s back, idly running her nails up and down. Blake was conscious of the sweat that had soaked through her shirt, but Yang made no comment on it. “If you have this key on you somewhere, like in a pocket or something, you’ll be able to come back through the cloaking spell.”

“ _Oh_.” Blake’s eyes widened. It really was a key, of sorts.

“Next time Ruby visits, she can work you into the spell itself, so this is really only a temporary thing,” Yang added, almost apologetic. “Then you won’t even need a key at all. But until then, you can get on and off the farm by yourself, as long as you have this key on hand.”

“That’s…” Blake began, but found she didn’t really know what to say. She opened her mouth, and her throat felt constricted with a strange, sudden urge to cry. She cleared her throat instead. “Thank you. So much.”

“As I said, I was going to give this to you, anyway!” Yang said again, letting out a nervous-sounding giggle. “I just figured, since it’s the solstice, it might as well be a--”

“I love it,” Blake interrupted, unable to stop herself from breaking into a wide smile. “And I love _you_.” She looked up, catching Yang’s lips in a light kiss. “Thank you.”

“I love you, too,” Yang replied, gaze softening. “This is your home now. This just makes it easier for you to come and go whenever you want.”

“I can... come and go?” The realization of that freedom caught Blake by surprise, and the question came out sounding confused.

“Of course,” Yang said, one eyebrow raised. “You said you had friends in town, right?”

“I… do.” Blake felt a flutter of relief. “I just… wasn’t sure if you’d want me to see them.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you don’t like people knowing about you,” Blake said slowly. “I thought that would’ve meant I couldn’t see anyone.”

“Just because _I_ don’t see anyone doesn’t mean you can’t,” Yang pointed out. “My own personal choices aren’t a prison sentence for _you_.”

Blake looked back down at the key in her hands. She could see Ilia again, and Sun. She could even go to town, if she wanted. She would have to be careful-- she didn’t want to imagine Adam’s rage if he found out she was still around-- but she didn’t have to be dead for everyone. She could still be alive.

Slowly, Blake sank against Yang, feeling dizziness whirl around her. Yang’s arm curled protectively around her waist.

“You don’t need to be so secluded, you know,” Blake mumbled, closing her eyes. “You could meet my friends, too. I’m sure they’d love to know you.”

“It’s for the best that I don’t,” Yang replied gently. “Knowing you is enough.”

Blake huffed, but she didn’t feel strong enough for a debate. Besides, they had the rest of their lives to figure out details like these; she could address them later.

“Well… the key is lovely,” she said, eyes cracking open again. To her relief, the world was no longer spinning. Sitting back up, she set the key back into the box and handed it to Yang. “Maybe I’ll put it on a necklace or something.”

“That’s a good idea,” Yang said, smiling as she set the key on the end table. “It’s a lot harder to misplace if it’s around your neck. I know I tend to lose things like that.”

“You could just use magic to find it again,” Blake teased. “Couldn’t you?”

“Well, yeah,” Yang admitted. “But not if I dropped it out in the woods or something. My magic isn’t _that_ powerful.”

“You seem powerful enough to me.”

Yang snorted. “ _Powerful_ is definitely not the word I’d pick. You saw Ruby at work. I’m nothing next to that.” She paused. “But _you_ have potential.”

“What?”

“I… wanted to ask if you’ve thought about it any more,” Yang said, guilty excitement glinting in her eyes. “About magic.”

“I haven’t really thought about much of anything,” Blake said, sighing. “Other than wishing this fever would go away.”

“It’s been going down,” Yang told her reassuringly. “It’ll break before you know it.”

“I guess.” Blake shrugged one shoulder. “But I honestly don’t think I’ve ever used magic before. I’m _still_ not convinced I did it the other day.”

“You did,” Yang insisted. “It should’ve taken hours for you to get to where I live, and in the shape you were in, that wouldn’t have been possible. Even if there _wasn’t_ a snowstorm.”

“I don’t know. I just… I can’t wrap my head around it,” Blake said, frowning. “Nothing strange happened around me growing up, nothing mystical. My life was just… _normal._ Until I came here, anyway.”

“And then you started getting visions?”

“Not exactly. Not right away.” Blake tried to think back. It was so hard to tell where her hopeful daydreams ended and where the lifelike visions began. “I’m… not sure when it started. Definitely not until I’d met you.”

“I see.” Yang leaned back in bed, looking thoughtful, and Blake allowed herself to be pulled back with her. She seemed to consider for a moment, idly stroking Blake’s back. “Has anything in your visions ever come to pass?”

“What?”

“Has anything you’ve… _seen_ ever come true?”

“Oh,” Blake said, thinking. Slowly, she shook her head. “I don’t think so. I mean, I guess they could-- the trees were always green. I could _smell_ them, and the flowers. I could even feel the sun.”

“So it _could_ very well come to pass,” Yang remarked. She paused, frowning. “There... _is_ a form of magic pertaining to a sort of… future sight, you know.”

“Future sight?” Blake asked, brows furrowing. Yang nodded.

“Like with all magic, people call it different things. Fortune-telling, prophecy… you seem to like the word _visions_. Most hedgewitches can do it to some degree, if they practice at it enough.”

“You think I’m seeing the future?” Blake asked, almost with alarm as she tried to straighten herself up. She met Yang’s eyes evenly, trying to see if there was any sort of playfulness, or joke, in them. Yang nodded, apparently serious.

“There’s no way to know for sure until your visions actually happen… but that’s the only thing I can think of.” Yang tilted her head, as if trying to think of an alternative, then shrugged. “Ruby might have other ideas if this isn’t it. But I’ve grown up around magic, and haven’t heard of anything else like this. The vividness... It’s more like what Ruby describes every time she peeks into the future a little.”

“She does that?”

“She dabbles in just about everything,” Yang replied, a touch of pride in her voice. “She’s probably the best hedgewitch I know.”

Nodding, Blake slowly slid back down. She nestled her head onto Yang’s lap, immediately feeling Yang’s fingers tangle in her hair.

“I sent a message to her yesterday,” Yang added, combing her fingers through it. “I didn’t go into too many specifics, but I did tell her you’re living here now. I wanted to ask her if she could visit any earlier, so she can bring some things for you. Clothes, shoes…”

“Oh.” Blake’s face was already hot from her fever, or else she might have blushed. “I’m sorry. I’ll... make it up to you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Yang said, her touch always so gentle. “It’s not a big deal. But I’ll ask her for some ideas, too, about how you can develop this magic of yours. I’ve never been strong enough to manage any sort of future sight on my own, but she might have some tips. Do you remember what triggered the visions for you?”

“I’m not sure if there was anything in particular,” Blake replied, trying to think back. She presumed it might have been due to the fever, but her thoughts were hazy and jumbled, and difficult to organize. “But I think you had to do with a lot of them.”

“Oh yeah?” Yang laughed, and the sound was so soothing to her senses. “Well, it’ll probably be a good idea to keep track if they happen again. We can keep track of what you were doing, what you were thinking about--”

“I felt it the other day,” Blake said suddenly, just remembering. “When you were singing.”

“Really?” Yang sounded surprised. Blake smiled sleepily, turning her head to look up into Yang’s face.

“I could see us. In… I think it was the springtime. But we were together.” She paused, her smile widening as she closed her eyes again. “And we were happy.”

“Then I think you _were_ seeing the future,” Yang said, her conviction catching Blake off-guard. Blake’s eyes fluttered open, and she raised an eyebrow. “It might not be spring yet, but having you with me already _has_ made me happy.”

“And so am I,” Blake agreed, then paused to wipe her forehead again. “Though, I’ll be happier once this fever breaks.”

“Get some more rest, m’amhrán,” Yang said kindly, rubbing Blake’s shoulders gently. It felt good, and Blake curled up as close as she could against Yang’s body. “You’ll be well before you know it.”

“I hope so,” Blake muttered, letting her heavy eyelids droop again. “I’m tired of being sick.”

Yang’s chuckle was a sweet sound, lulling her toward sleep. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And she would, Blake thought, oddly reassured by those words. She knew that soon, she would wake up again, and Yang would be at her side, and she would finally be well.

After that, life together could truly start.

\--

Even after her fever broke, it was still a few days before Blake could be useful again.

In some ways, trying to rebuild her strength was worse than fighting a fever. Mentally, she was more put together, and more self-conscious of her shortcomings. She did her best to help around the house as she found her strength again, but being stuck in the cottage was making her stir-crazy. She hated not being able to help Yang with the farm’s chores, even though Yang insisted it was no hardship. But nearly a week after arriving at Yang’s, Blake finally felt strong enough to help.

There was still a slight snag in the plan: Blake had no shoes. Fortunately, Yang had found an old pair of boots that Blake could wear, but Yang’s feet were huge compared to Blake’s. It would make the boots difficult to work in as they were.

“Can’t you just shrink it with magic or something?” Blake asked, wiggling her toes. There was so much empty space in the boot that if she wasn’t careful, she’d step right out of it.

“That kind of spell is probably going to be a little bit out of my league,” Yang said, digging through her dresser. “We’ll just have to stuff them with socks or something until Ruby gets here.”

“Which won’t be till spring, right?” Blake asked doubtfully. Yang nodded.

“She said she’d try to come once the snows start melting, but even then, she can never be sure of when she’ll get here. Even with magic, trying to get through the mud with a cart isn’t easy. And traveling so far in the winter is always risky business.”

“That’s true,” Blake replied, pulling off the overly-large boot. “So how does it work? That you can send messages to each other so easily?”

“Oh, that.” Yang brightened, pulling some socks out of her drawer to fill out the boot. “That’s easy. I use the wind.”

“Like…” Blake paused, not sure how that would entail. “Do you… write a message and the wind takes it to her?”

“Close.” Yang grinned. “I whisper the message to the wind, and the wind carries the words and whispers them back to Ruby. When it’s windy, like it has been, it only takes a day or so to reach her.”

“How…?” Blake began, confused.

“It’s sort of a druidic trick,” Yang admitted. “It’s not as fast as other, more magical methods, but the message always gets there in the end. Ruby, though, can send whole letters with magic, and I can get it from her almost instantly. When she remembers to write, anyway. Can I see the boot?”

Blake handed the boot over, still trying to wrap her mind around _whispering messages to the wind_. As much as she thought she was getting used to the idea of magic, it was still hard to take in.

“I suppose I could _try_ a spell for these,” Yang said uncertainly, weighing the boot in her hands. “I’ve just never tried something like this before. I’ve never needed to.”

“Is it complicated? Shrinking a pair of boots?”

“Somewhat. It’s mostly about precision and control, which I’ve never been particularly good at.” Yang frowned. “I’m decent with simple things-- more nature-related things, anyway. I can keep fires lit, and thaw out ice in the animal stalls-- or in frostbitten toes.” She gave Blake a wink. “But shrinking something? I can’t make any promises, but I know the theory behind it.”

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to try,” Blake said, smiling encouragingly. Yang smiled in return, then gave a sharp nod.

“True.” She handed the boot back to Blake, setting the socks on the dresser. “Put it on, and I’ll give it a shot.”

“It won’t shrink my whole foot, will it?” Blake asked, suddenly concerned. Yang laughed.

“No. The boot and your foot are two completely different things. I’d need an extra spell to shrink the foot. I’m just using it as a mold, of sorts. To make sure I get the fit right.”

“I trust you,” Blake said, smiling, cramming her foot into it. She held her leg up. “Shrink away.”

Yang grinned as she took Blake’s foot in hand. The grin faded, however, into an absent smile as her eyes lost their focus. She stared at the boot with glazed eyes, and began to hum.

Blake watched, curious, trying to see if there was any change happening in the boot. Her eyes darted back and forth between it and Yang, unsure of what to expect.

Yang, though, stayed focused. She continued to hum, the notes rising and falling in pitch as if she were trying to find the right fit for this particular spell. Her brows furrowed slightly, and Blake felt her fingers tighten around the leather.

But it _wasn’t_ Yang’s grip that had tightened. Blake’s eyes widened, feeling the leather of the boot twitch slightly, tightening around her foot. She stared in disbelief, _seeing_ the shift happen right in front of her.

By the time Yang stopped humming, the boot was snug on Blake’s foot. It still had a little wiggle room and the soles were slightly lumpy, but it was a much more comfortable fit. Experimentally, she poked the boot. The leather _felt_ the same. The laces were messed up, as they hadn’t shrunk with the boot, but it was nothing a little adjustment wouldn’t fix.

“How is it?” Yang asked, clearing her throat as she let go of Blake’s foot. Blake set her foot back on the ground, shifting her weight onto it.

“It feels… great!” Blake said, surprised. “It fits!”

Yang’s eyebrows shot up, but she lit up with a grin. “Really?”

“Yeah!” Blake rocked her foot back and forth, still not quite believing it had actually worked.

“That was a lot easier than I expected!” Yang marvelled, shaking her head. “It felt so natural.”

“You just don’t give yourself enough credit,” Blake said teasingly. Gingerly so as not to put any stress on her stitches, she bent over and began to straighten out the laces.

“That was…” Yang shook her head again, still disbelieving. She took a deep breath, and smiled again. “Well… shall we try the other one?”

\--

Blake felt a flutter in her stomach as she stepped into the cold winter air. After her trek to Yang’s house in the middle of a snowstorm, she was somewhat nervous about being out in the cold again. So she’d bundled herself up for the short walk to the animal sheds, wearing thick layers of borrowed clothes. She wouldn’t freeze this time.

And the snow was surprisingly deep. It would have come up over her knees if Yang hadn’t shoveled a path for them, and Blake was grateful she had. How had she managed to walk so far, barefoot, through snow like this?

“You warm enough?” Yang asked, concerned, as she closed the door behind them. “You really don’t need to come out yet if you’re not feeling up to it.”

“I am,” Blake replied, forcing a smile. “It’s just… being back out in the snow again is a little…”

Her voice trailed off, ears drooping, and there was sympathy in Yang’s eyes.

“We won’t be out long,” Yang reminded her, taking her arm. “And once we’re done with the animals, we can go back inside and stay there.”

“Okay.” Blake took a deep breath. She looked up at the clear blue sky; it looked as though it was trying to welcome her, to remind her that the outdoors weren’t always hostile. Maybe she could find a little peace in that. “Then let’s go.”

And it _was_ refreshing, she had to admit, to breathe in the cool morning air. As they walked to the shed, Blake looked around with new appreciation. She’d come so close to never being able to see days like this again, to see that blue sky, to inhale that fresh air. She let her shoulders relax as the anxieties slowly seeped out of her.

 _This_ was her home now, she thought, still so amazed at the notion, and at how easy it was to see the beauty in it.

Yang walked Blake through her animal routine, introducing her to the small herd of goats and sheep. None of the work was particularly hard or new, as Blake had the experience of working with Adam’s small sheep herd, so she picked up Yang’s instructions easily. It was simple work, but it felt good to do _something_ again.

“This is a pretty easy time of year for taking care of them,” Yang remarked, idly patting a fat, friendly goat named Pam. “It’ll get busier when they’re ready to lamb and kid. But this time of year, I’m not milking the goats or anything. Everyone gets to be a little lazy in the winter, including me.”

Blake smiled, and reached down to give Pam a light scratch behind the ears. The little goat looked up at her, blinking her large brown eyes before folding her legs beneath her. She settled down onto the floor, apparently taking Yang’s words to heart. Maybe someday, Blake could find that kind of ease within herself, too.

“So what _do_ you do in winter?” Blake asked when they’d finished. She opened the door, then looked back behind her. Yang grunted as she pushed back a couple would-be escapee goats, then slipped out of the stall. She latched the door shut with a sigh of relief.

“I swear, they have no manners,” she said with a fond eyeroll. “I’m sorry, what was the question?”

“What you do in the winter,” Blake asked, smiling as she stepped back outside. “What does your kind of _laziness_ look like?”

“I knit,” Yang offered, poking her head back over the stall door to give one of the goats a final pat. “I spin a little, too, though my sheep are mostly for meat. But I do a lot of reading.”

“You _do_ have a lot of books,” Blake remarked. She looked up at the trees around them, watching some of the braver goats stomp through the snow in order to get to them. In one of the trees, Blake could make out a raven sitting on one of the branches. She squinted at it and, as if the bird realized it had been seen, it let out a throaty _quark_ before launching itself upwards, to a higher branch.

“Ruby always brings me new ones every time she visits,” Yang replied cheerfully, striding out of the shed and closing the door. Blake broke her eyes away from the raven to look back at her.

“Remind me to browse your collection.”

“It’s all yours, m’amhrán,” she replied, stepping closer to wrap her arms around her. She lowered her head, her breath a cloud over Blake’s lips. “Just like I am.”

Smiling, Blake sealed the gap between them with a kiss.

Yang was right about there not being much work to be had with the animals in winter. It felt like no time at all before they returned to the cottage, a few fresh eggs in their basket. Yang’s cheeks and nose were rosy from the cold, and Blake guessed that her own were similar. She pressed her palm against her nose, half-worried that she’d find frostbite there. But she couldn’t help but giggle when Yang leaned in against her, brushing their cold noses together. Like this, it didn’t take long for her nose to warm up again.

Still, the minute Blake kicked her boots off and hung up her extra layers, she made a beeline for the fireplace, basking in its warmth and light. Seeing Blake’s hurry, Yang looked over her shoulder from the kitchen.

“Are you okay?” she asked anxiously. “Are you cold?”

“I’m fine,” Blake said quickly, almost laughing. “Really.”

“If you want me to get a blanket--”

“I’m quite capable of getting one myself,” Blake replied firmly. She let her tone soften. “But thank you.”

Yang’s face softened with relief, then nodded. She turned back around, setting things aside and putting away the egg basket. Blake continued to watch her, warm affection bubbling up inside of her. This was the feeling she’d been seeking, she knew, when she moved to White Fang all those months ago to live with Adam. Looking back, it was easy to see that she’d been so dangerously naive. She had fully convinced herself she’d been in love with him; she had _told_ herself she had loved him. But anything she’d once felt for him never came close to how she felt for Yang.

 _This_ was what love was supposed to feel like.

She sat down on the sheepskin, curling her legs to the side and scooting closer to the fire. A log crackled.

“Come sit with me,” she said decisively, looking back up at Yang. She reached a hand up. “Please?”

Yang didn’t respond with words, but she did smile. She set her basket on a shelf, then walked over, extending a hand to take Blake’s. Blake pulled slightly, urging Yang down onto the sheepskin beside her.

“Is this just a sit-in-front-of-the-fire kind of day?” Yang asked, her voice low and amused. Blake flopped against her and wriggled close.

“Yes.”

“Oh, good.” Yang wrapped an arm around her waist, grinning down at her when Blake looked up. “I like those kinds of days.”

“Mm.” Blake lifted a hand, stroking the backs of her fingers up Yang’s jaw. When she got to her hair, she curled her fingers back around, sliding them into the thick blonde locks. She pulled Yang’s head closer, kissing her.

This was almost exactly how it was a couple weeks ago. The same place, the same kiss, the same firelight. Blake kissed her, and felt love burn hot through her veins. Yang’s arms encircled her, wrapping all the way around her, and it _still_ didn’t feel close enough.

Nothing had to stop them this time, Blake thought, looping her pinky beneath Yang’s shirt. She didn’t have to return to Adam now, she didn’t have to compromise. She could give herself to Yang, could savor every kiss, every touch, every moment. There were no limits on their love, no restrictions or reasons to hold back. For the first time in months, she felt fully in charge of her own body, her own life.

Blake could belong to herself again.

But it also meant they could take their time. Their kisses were slow, deep, intentioned. Yang sighed softly into her mouth while her hands roamed up Blake’s back, and Blake could feel the goosebumps break out, skittering down her spine.

“Gods, Blake,” Yang murmured between kisses, her voice so low and husky as her arm tightened its hold.

“Yang,” was all Blake could reply. She slid her arm all the way up the back of Yang’s shirt, smoothing over the dip in her back, feeling the way it curved as Yang arched her back. And still, it wasn’t _enough_.

“Blake,” Yang said again, cutting the kiss off, but not pulling away. Her lips lingered, almost still touching Blake’s, her breath warm. “Your stitches…”

“They’re fine,” Blake replied softly. She dragged her hand around to Yang’s front, and she felt her sharp intake of breath. “I want you more.”

She drew her fingers out, rolling the hem of Yang’s sweater between her fingers.

“Are you sure?” Yang asked, her short nails continuing to trace circles along Blake’s back. Blake nodded.

“We can be careful of the stitches… but I want to make this choice.” She smiled a little. “I _want_ this. I want _you_.”

That seemed to be the only encouragement Yang needed. The next kiss was harder, hungrier, faster. There was a confused flurry as they pulled clothes off, carelessly tossing them to the side, both of them too desperate for skin to be bothered with where they landed. Yang’s body was a perfect blend of softness and muscle, and Blake spread her fingers to feel as much of it as she could. She ran a hand slowly over Yang’s breast, each finger hitching over her nipple, and Yang’s sigh turned into a pleased hum.

It was a hum that sharpened as Blake leaned in, sucking a mark onto Yang’s collarbone. Yang broke off her hum with a gasp, her nails digging into Blake’s skin.

All the space around them felt charged, like the energy was enveloping them and driving them together. There was a buzz coursing through her body, her need almost electric. Blake worked her hand between Yang’s legs, and they parted automatically at the touch. Yang’s breath was so ragged, a match for Blake’s own. She had to be feeling this charge as much as Blake was.

It was almost elegant, the way Yang closed her eyes and rolled her hips onto Blake’s fingers, her moans coming out a steady hum. It was so hard not to stare, and watch the effect she was having on Yang. Blake kissed her throat and felt the vibration on her lips, the growing song. When she lifted her face back up, Yang’s eyes were open again. The lilac smoldered.

“Blake,” she whimpered as Blake drew wet fingers over her clit. The word devolved into a hum again, the melody curling with Blake’s fingers, with Yang’s toes. Blake’s lips met Yang’s again, and Blake drank in that song. She could almost feel that climb herself, the way the pressure around them kept growing, and building...

And then Yang _sang_.

At least, that’s how it sounded to Blake. While Yang clenched around Blake’s fingers and shuddered against her, the soft cry she let out was long, beautiful, and full. There was a blissfulness to it that Blake hadn’t sensed in any of the other songs Yang had ever sung, but it felt so right, so perfect, and so wholly _theirs_.

Yang was still quivering as she collapsed against Blake’s body, breathing heavily. Though the moans-- the song-- had faded away, it continued to echo in Blake’s head. She found she didn’t want to let it go.

“Gods, Yang,” Blake murmured, circling her arms around her. “That was… you were…”

Yang’s panting began to subside. After a moment she looked back up, wearing a somewhat dazed smile. Gently, she pressed a kiss to Blake’s lips.

“Incredible,” she said, low and hoarse. She kissed Blake again, as if to reiterate her statement. “That felt… _incredible_.”

Blake smiled into the kiss, face flushed. Even though it had been Yang’s orgasm, Blake felt almost high with satisfaction and love, but also something more than that; hearing those sounds had left Blake with a sense of wonder, and a strange sense of peace.

“Have I mentioned today how much I love you?” Yang asked, eyes glittering. Her lips descended along Blake’s neck, carefully urging her to lean backward. The sheepskin was so soft against the bare skin of Blake’s back, and heart began to quicken again.

“You… may have said something along those lines, once or twice,” she breathed, somehow sounding so calm as Yang’s fingertips trailed along her collarbone, then between her breasts. Above her, Yang grinned.

“Now,” she replied softly, voice barely above a whisper, “let me _show_ you.”

Right away, it was so _much_. Yang kissed her way down Blake’s body as her fingers dragged over her skin. Blake let out a quiet sigh, all too aware of the slickness between her legs as she propped herself up on her elbows. She stared, enraptured at the sight of Yang and the way she leaned over her, the way she _moved_. She set a hand on Blake’s thigh, and with a jagged inhale, Blake bent her knee, letting Yang in.

Blake couldn’t break her gaze away, her mouth slightly open, making little gasps while she watched Yang enter her, watched her arm steadily pump back and forth against her, watched the rocking of her own hips to meet Yang’s fingers. Then, Yang looked back up at her, and the pleased smile on her face was almost enough to make Blake come undone right there.

But no; Yang was taking her _time_. Blake wasn’t sure if it was from inexperience or from a simple desire to prolong her pleasure, but she was nearly overwhelmed by her own desperate nerves. By the time she felt Yang’s tongue on her clit, Blake had fallen back against the rug, writhing. Her back arched, fingers digging into the sheepskin, losing herself in her own moans.

It was all too good, and Blake could sense herself getting so _close_ , Yang’s name flying off her lips and grinding desperately back and forth against her mouth.

“That’s it,” Yang murmured, eyes darting up. She reached a hand up, unhooking Blake’s fingers from the wool to grasp her hand and twine their fingers together. Her thumb stroked Blake’s hand as she let out a low hum, and it was enough.

Blake convulsed, spine curved sharply off the sheepskin, her whole body wracking with spasms and twitches. Yang’s name came out almost as a shout, surprising even Blake with its volume. She gripped Yang’s hand tightly, to a point where it must’ve hurt, but if it did, Yang didn’t complain. She only continued to watch Blake, a hint of smugness in that smile.

Panting, Blake collapsed back down, entirely limp. Her whole chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. She couldn’t remember the last time she came with such intensity. She probably never had.

It had never been like this before. Before, when it had been Adam on top of her, it had felt more like a duty, a debt owed to him. He’d brought her to White Fang, and given her a place to be; sex was just a price she’d paid. It meant little more than offering herself, and letting him take what he wanted.

But with Yang, it felt like, for the first time, Blake had been _given_ something.

She closed her eyes, and for a brief second, something beautiful flashed across the backs of her eyelids. She saw Yang, standing on the ridge of Cnoc na Bumbóg, draped in her black cloak. Blake saw herself holding her hand, overlooking the valley with her, watching the gentle pinks and purples of sunset. The wind was cold on this ridge, but beside her, Yang kept her warm, as she always had. The breeze caught in Yang’s hair, brushing lightly across Blake’s face before Yang sheepishly tucked it behind her ear. Blake leaned against her, feeling the muscles in her face break into a smile. Somewhere, a bird was singing, echoing across the ridge, almost like a tiny version of Yang’s own songs. Peacefulness washed over them, and Yang squeezed her hand.

Blake opened her eyes, and realized Yang really _was_ squeezing her hand.

Yang got to her knees, still wearing that smile as she crawled up beside Blake. Then, the smile flashed to a look of concern.

“Are you okay?” she asked worriedly. Blake blinked, finally noticing a couple tears were running down the side of her face. Hastily, she wiped them away, and smiled dizzily.

“More than,” she said reassuringly, pushing herself up a little.

“You were crying,” Yang pointed out. Blake tilted her head towards her, pressing their foreheads together.

“Happy tears. I promise.”

Yang smiled tentatively, her confusion still plain. “Okay,” she said slowly. “I thought I might’ve hurt you, or did something…”

“You didn’t,” Blake said firmly. She cupped Yang’s cheek, then kissed her. “I’ve never felt so good in my life.”

“Yeah?” Yang’s smile relaxed. “Gods, I’m happy to hear that. I can’t say I’ve had much practice with this sort of thing, so I was… a little worried, I guess.”

“And you had no reason to be,” Blake replied, chuckling, wriggling closer. “Seriously. That was the best orgasm I’ve ever had.”

Yang let out a laugh, wrapping her arms around Blake. Blake’s skin felt sticky with sweat, but she was past the point of caring. A little sweat couldn’t possibly be a barrier between them now, after all they’d done to each other just then.

“Seriously,” Blake said, eyes softening. She kissed Yang again, more gently. “It’s so… _different_ with you. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I didn’t know it could feel so… _good_.”

She buried her face in Yang’s shoulder, breathing in her comforting scent. Yang ran a hand down her back, caressing her.

“ _Everything_ is different with you,” Yang agreed quietly. “I never knew being with someone-- being with _you_ \-- could be like this.” She shook her head. “And now I can’t imagine going back to before. I… _need_ you now, m’amhrán. Having you in my life has changed it all.”

“Gods, so have you,” Blake breathed. She kissed Yang’s shoulder, and then snuggled against it again. “So have you.”

They stayed there a while, in front of the fireplace. Blake didn’t want to move away from the fire’s warmth, or Yang’s. She felt so full and satisfied that she supposed she would be happy to never move again. This, she decided, was how she wanted to spend the rest of her life: in Yang’s arms.

She didn’t protest, however, when Yang released her in order to lay down. Blake lay between her and the fire, comfortable with Yang’s body at her back, molding perfectly to her curves. She felt Yang’s lips press a kiss against her hair.

“I… think I had another one,” Blake said sleepily, remembering. “A vision.”

“What?” Yang asked, surprised. Her breath on Blake’s head made her ears twitch.

“After I… finished,” Blake added, turning a little in order to look at Yang. She felt herself blush. “I saw us on the ridge. Holding hands.” She hesitated. “I think… it really _is_ our future that I’ve been seeing.”

“ _Our_ future,” Yang repeated. Blake could almost hear the smile in her words. “I like the sound of that.”

“So do I,” Blake said, setting her head back down. Yang’s hand ran slowly along her side, and Blake sank closer against her. But, she supposed, as much as she was looking forward to the future, she found herself quite enjoying the present.

Present and future, she thought with sleepy satisfaction. Present and future that was just them.

_Just us._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully it won't be as long a wait for my next chapter!! Thanks for being patient~ I totally didn't get sucked into another farming sim... lololol
> 
> Also, my incredible girlfriend SaigamiProject just made some [BEAUTIFUL art](https://saigamiproject.tumblr.com/post/623921098317348864/it-took-forever-to-finish-this-but-heres-my) of the fireplace scene from chapter 8! It's so soft and it pretty much killed me.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I usually pride myself in chapter length consistency... well, that went completely out the window for this chapter, oops. Sorrynotsorry!! Hopefully, the next update will be normal-length again.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” Blake asked wistfully.

Blake and Yang stood in the woods, just yards away from Ilia’s farm. It was strange, returning to it now. Before, visiting Ilia’s house for spinning lessons was like standing in the eye of the storm; it had been a place that offered her respite from her unstable life on Adam’s farm. She didn’t think she’d ever been to Ilia’s without a persistent feeling of dread of knowing she’d have to return to him.

It seemed like there were fewer shadows around the house now.

“It’s for the best that I don’t,” Yang replied, her soft voice apologetic. She stared through the trees at the little farm. Thick-wooled sheep were sulking around the open shed door, oblivious to their presence. It was a sunny day, and it seemed like the sheep were having trouble deciding whether or not that sunshine was worth braving the chilly air. “Trying to connect with people is… not a good idea for someone like me.”

“You made a connection with me, didn’t you?” Blake asked gently. Yang looked down at her and smiled, squeezing her hand.

“You’re different. I don’t think it was even _possible_ to avoid one with you, m’amhrán.”

Blake laughed. “And a good thing, too.” She took Yang’s other hand, sidestepping in order to face her head on. She tilted her head, smiling back. “Because I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Keeping a hold of Blake’s hands, Yang spread her arms, which pulled Blake closer. Blake laughed again, but met Yang’s lips in a kiss.

“But,” Blake added, lips still hovering over Yang’s, “I think it would do you some good to meet other people. You don’t _have_ to be alone all the time.”

Yang bit her lip, eyes flicking away uncertainly.

“Your gift doesn’t mean you have to be afraid of people,” Blake went on, brushing her fingers against Yang’s cheek. “Death… it’s a part of life. It’s something that everyone has to deal with eventually, in one way or another, but it doesn’t stop us from making new friends, or growing families, or any of that. Just because you know _when_ it happens doesn’t change anything. You’re not the one who _causes_ death. All it comes down to is just… knowing when it’ll happen a little sooner than most.”

Yang blew out a long, stuttery breath, and for a moment, Blake could’ve sworn she’d caught glassiness behind her eyes. And then, with a shake of Yang’s head, it was gone.

“It doesn’t change the fact that people still _think_ I’m the cause,” she replied with a sigh. “Even if I… _wanted_ to know people. They don’t want to know _me_ , because of what I am. Because of what they _think_ I am.”

“Then we can teach them,” Blake said, twining her fingers in the soft, golden waves of Yang’s hair. “You said before that banshees used to live among their people, right? To warn them about plagues, and famines?”

“Well, yeah…” Yang frowned. “But that was in the old days. People hate us now. They _fear_ us. And people don’t just get over fear like that, not when it’s been so ingrained in them for centuries.”

“So we can start small!” Blake said brightly. “I know Ilia would like you, and Sun.”

“I…” Yang looked down. “I… I can’t. Not yet.”

Blake’s heart fell, but she nodded. Reassuringly, she tilted Yang’s head in order to look her in the eyes again, and then leaned in to kiss her.

“It’s okay,” she told her, giving her a comforting smile. “We can take our time. We’ve got all the time in the world now, right?”

“Yeah.” Yang’s relief was palpable. “We do, don’t we?”

Blake kissed her again, tenderly. “So I’ll meet you at home?”

“Yeah,” Yang replied, finding her cheerfulness again. “You have your key?”

Blake put a hand to her neck, letting her hand trail along the string she’d fashioned into a necklace for it. She clutched the small lump the key made beneath her sweater. The metal was warm against her skin. “Yes.”

“All right.” Yang’s shoulders relaxed. “Okay, so just remember what I taught you. And if I can sense you, and it feels like you’re moving slowly--”

“--you’ll come get me,” Blake finished, smiling warmly. “I know you will.”

While Yang seemed confident that Blake could find her way back to the cottage with magic, it made Blake feel better knowing that they had a backup plan. It had been a long enough walk trying to get to Ilia’s farm, and she didn’t relish the idea of walking back alone if she couldn’t get her magic to work.

“Okay.” Yang gave her another kiss, then took a step back. Her lips quirked with a smile. “Go.”

Blake turned toward Ilia’s farm, then looked back over her shoulder at Yang, giving her a soft look. With a small wink, Yang took a step back, and seemed to disappear before Blake’s eyes.

So, that was how it looked, Blake thought with amusement, emerging from the trees onto Ilia’s farmland. Yang had described it as taking very long strides through the forest, so long that a single footstep had pulled her deep into the woods.

_Magic_. Blake snorted. She’d probably never truly understand it.

Suddenly, there was a rustle in the woods, and nearby songbirds launched into the air with an alarmed cry. Blake spun, her heart pounding. Though she knew it was a nonsensical thought, she almost expected Adam to stride out of the woods, a weighted sock swinging in his fist.

But it wasn’t him, of course. A large black bird settled comfortably onto a branch, regarding Blake with beady eyes. She took a deep breath, hoping it would slow her heart rate down. The crow, or raven, or whatever it was, had probably just scared away the smaller birds. She felt stupid, for thinking it was Adam; he had no reason to be on Ilia’s farm, or to even know where she was. It was just his ghost, continuing to haunt her.

And she hated that it did.

Blake had regained her composure by the time she got to Ilia’s front door. She still felt a flutter of nervousness, but it was less fear and more anticipation. Ilia probably thought she was dead. What would she think when she saw Blake on her doorstep? 

She knocked, then took a step back. Maybe, she told herself, Ilia wasn’t even home. It was possible she’d gone to town, or to someone’s house, or--

“ _Blake_?”

Blake felt the full weight of Ilia’s stare, and her ears drooped automatically. She tried to smile, though it came out more as a grimace.

“Hey, Ilia.”

Ilia continued to stare, her gray eyes going wide and her mouth dropping open slightly, her freckles turning white from either surprise or fear.

“You…” Ilia’s words dried up, and she shook her head slowly before she tried again. “You… I thought…”

“That I was dead?” Blake asked softly. Ilia’s freckles gained tone again, turning into a dull blue.

“Well…” A pained expression crossed Ilia’s face. “ _Shit_ , was he telling the truth, then? About Kuo Kuana?”

Hearing Ilia curse caught Blake off-guard, and she almost missed the question. She blinked. They made no sense.

“I’m sorry?” she said, and then her eyes darted toward the direction of the road. The front door was within view, and she shifted uneasily. “Could… I come in?”

Ilia’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Are you _un_ dead?” she asked, pulling the door a little more closed. “You need an invitation before you can go inside a house?”

“I’m not a vampire, Ilia,” Blake replied, her voice close to a snap. She looked back toward the road; she felt so exposed here, and she wasn’t ready for the tale of her miraculous reappearance to get back to Adam. She lowered her voice. “Please?”

Ilia bit her lip, looked around, and then nodded. She stepped back, ushering Blake inside.

“I’ll trust that you’re not a vampire,” she said, warning creeping into her voice. “But I’m not ruling out anything. You could still be a… changeling, or a shapeshifter, or something. Or maybe a zombie.”

Blake sighed as the door was closed behind her. Giving Ilia a droll stare, Blake turned over one of her palms and held it out.

“Feel my pulse,” she instructed, her voice level. “I don’t know how to prove I’m not a changeling or a shapeshifter, but I’m not dead.”

Frowning, Ilia placed two fingers on Blake’s wrist, feeling for her pulse. Satisfied, she withdrew it with a nod.

“So, you’re definitely alive.”

Blake rolled her eyes, and despite her irritation, she smiled. “It’s good to see you, too, Ilia.”

“So… it _is_ you?” Ilia asked slowly, hope creeping into her voice as her skin regained its usual brown color. She looked Blake up and down, assessing her, like she still expected something to be wrong. Blake nodded.

“I know it’s… kind of strange,” Blake replied, her exhale feeling a little shaky. “And I’m not quite sure what Adam said, but--”

Ilia threw her arms around Blake, cutting off her attempt at explanation. Relieved, Blake returned the hug, holding onto her tightly and cupping the back of her head. In an embrace like this, Ilia felt so small.

“We were so worried,” Ilia said, voice coming out choked. She let go in order to look up at Blake. “When you didn’t show up for your spinning lesson, I went to Adam’s farm to see if everything was okay. And he wouldn’t even come outside.” She swallowed. “So I went and got Sun, and we confronted him together. And… he said you’d gone back to the city. But we didn’t believe him. He was acting so fishy, and since nobody had died when the banshee sang… we feared the worst.”

“So that was his story?” Blake asked bitterly, following Ilia’s lead and taking a seat at the kitchen table. “That I’d gone back to the city?”

“No one believed him,” Ilia replied harshly, skin brightening to crimson. “There had just been a snowstorm, and we all knew the way he treated you, and…” She paused, puzzlement turning her skin back to brown. “So if you’re not dead, and not in the city… what _did_ happen?”

Blake could feel her cheeks heat up at the idea of worrying anyone, but she tried not to dwell on that; she would fix everything.

“It’s... He…” Blake paused, unsure of what to say and how to say it. It was easy to play out the conversation in her head-- she’d tried to plan for Ilia’s questions, to decide which parts to gloss over and which to be open about. But now that the time had come to actually answer her questions, she found it was a lot more difficult than she’d thought. She looked back at Ilia, and saw that flash of kindness and sympathy. Blake’s throat constricted, but she somehow pushed the words out anyway. “He… tried to kill me.”

“I knew it,” Ilia growled. She pushed her chair back, like she was going to stand up, but thought better of it. She took a deep breath, and Blake saw the brown of Ilia’s skin try to kindle red again. This time, though, Ilia seemed to control herself, for it didn’t change. “I knew he’d done something, from the way he was acting with us.”

Blake jerked her head in a nod, throat still too tight to speak.

“None of us believed his story,” Ilia said angrily. “We told people in town, and a bunch of us went to search Adam’s property.”

“You _what_?!”

“Well, if he killed you, we wanted to see if we could find your, um…” Ilia hesitated, and Blake winced.

“My body.”

“Yeah.” Ilia looked down, tracing the wood grain of the table with a fingernail. “We brought dogs and everything to go after your scent. One of them went into the woods, and we thought we were going to find you there, but… the trail went cold. We found a slipper, but that was it.”

“It was mine,” Blake said, staring over Ilia’s shoulder, deep in thought. She could remember back to that night, when she’d picked up one of her frozen feet and realized she’d lost a slipper. Eventually, she’d lost both, but it was surreal to think that Ilia and the others had found one of them.

“How…?” Ilia began, but didn’t seem to know how to finish the question. Blake twitched back to attention, ears perking back up.

“When… the, um… the banshee. The day she sang.” Blake’s cheeks grew hot again, feeling a flutter in her stomach. She wondered what Ilia would think if she found out it had been the banshee who saved her. “I… did some shopping that day,” Blake went on. “For the solstice.”

Ilia nodded, silently urging her to continue.

“Adam and I… had a disagreement,” she went on delicately, not wanting to discuss too many details. She didn’t want to reopen the wounds she was desperately trying to close. “He ended up… stabbing me. And then locked me outside. During the snowstorm.”

“He _what_?” There was no restraint left to Ilia’s skin-changing. Her whole body-- freckles and eyes included-- blazed red.

“Yeah.” Blake stared down at the table, watching her fingers clench. Her whole face burned. “I… nearly died that night.”

“I’ll kill him,” Ilia declared, standing up. “Once everyone hears what he’s done--”

“Ilia,” Blake said softly, looking up at her pleadingly. “Please. I just… want to move on with my life.”

The muscles in Ilia’s jaw tightened. She sat back down, though she didn’t relax. She still looked like she had half a mind to storm out of the house, maybe even march over to Adam’s farm directly. But then her eyes faded back to gray, and she took a slow breath and gave a curt nod.

“So what happened?” she asked, her red arms folding atop the table. “How’d you… survive that?”

“It’s…” Blake hesitated. She looked into Ilia’s eyes, seeing only concern and care in them, despite the lingering red fury of her skin tone. She’d been supportive of a relationship with Yang. No doubt she would be happy that she was with Yang now. 

But she was also a superstitious person, the same person who warned her not to wander too far into the woods in order to keep away from the banshee. She may approve of Yang for now, but how far would that support go?

She couldn’t tell her the truth. Not yet.

But she could start small.

“Do… you believe in magic?” Blake asked slowly. Ilia arched an eyebrow, puzzled.

“Of course,” she said, folding her hands together, almost primly. The question must have surprised her enough that her skin faded back to brown, though her freckles remained crimson. “Why?”

“I… think magic saved me,” Blake replied, smiling weakly. Ilia’s other eyebrow joined the first one, high on her forehead.

“What?” Ilia straightened up, her freckles finally fading. “How?!”

“I’m… not sure how, or why.” Blake looked down at her hands, spreading her fingers, almost expecting them to sparkle with her newfound magic. They didn’t, of course, and she forced herself to look back up at Ilia. “But… I managed to get to Yang’s house. I never could’ve made it that far otherwise.”

“You’ve been staying with her this whole time?” Ilia asked, dumbfounded. “In the woods?”

“Yeah.” Blake bit her lip, then made the decision to push further. “She… knows a few things about magic. She used it to save my feet from frostbite.”

“Your feet?” Ilia frowned, then realization dawned. “So that slipper--”

Blake tried to laugh. “I lost both of them on the way to Yang’s.”

“He locked you out of the house, in a snowstorm, in _slippers_ ,” Ilia muttered, shaking her head in disgust. “I’ll kill him, I swear to the gods.” But before Blake could protest, Ilia switched gears. “So you think it was magic? That magic saved you?”

“Well… yeah.” Blake shrugged one shoulder. “There’s no other explanation, and Yang swears that’s what happened.”

She didn’t have to mention that Yang was a banshee, Blake figured. But if Ilia was receptive to the idea of magic-- which it sounded like she might be-- then maybe there was hope for her to come around someday.

“Magic,” Ilia mused, sitting back. “I’ve never seen it myself, but there used to be a witch who lived around here. They say she disappeared years ago, though.” Her eyes widened. “Is _Yang_ the witch?”

“She’s-- well, not quite,” Blake admitted, shifting nervously in her chair. “She can use magic, but she’s not very powerful. Not powerful enough to be a witch, anyway.”

“Can you do magic now?” Ilia asked, almost eagerly. “Like a spell?”

“It’s… a little more complicated than that,” Blake replied awkwardly. “I’m still not quite sure of how much I’m capable of. It could’ve just been a one-time thing, or… my connection with the forest, or something.”

“What does that mean? A connection with the forest?”

“It… I don’t know.” Blake’s brows furrowed. “It’s like… a whole new world, and I still don’t quite understand all of it. Some of it _still_ doesn’t feel quite real to me.” She looked down at her hands again, stretching her fingers out. “But I’m alive, which is proof enough that _something_ about it is real.”

Ilia reached out a hand, gripping one of Blake’s. “And that’s all that matters,” she said firmly. She gave Blake’s hand a squeeze. “Magic or not… I’m so glad you’re still here.”

“Yeah,” Blake said, returning the squeeze. “I am, too.”

Visiting Ilia filled Blake’s heart with so much relief that it almost made her feel weak. They talked long about the possibilities of magic, and what it could mean for Blake. Ilia wasn’t afraid of the idea of magic on its own; it was all about what magic was capable of in the wrong hands, she explained. But magic was ancient, and was something to be respected. Hearing this gave Blake hope that maybe, eventually, she could tell her the truth about Yang’s identity.

“I hope I get to meet her soon,” Ilia said wistfully, when it came time for Blake to leave. In the middle of winter, Blake didn’t want to risk staying out for too long, especially if she couldn’t get her magic to work.

“I’m working on her,” she replied, smiling. “She’s nervous about meeting new people… but I think she’ll come around. I’d love for her to meet you, and Sun…”

“And you know everyone in town would welcome her with open arms,” Ilia said, leaning against the doorframe. “They care about you, Blake. Everyone was so worried when you disappeared.”

Blake winced. “I’m sorry I worried everyone.”

“It’s not your fault,” Ilia told her firmly. “Once everyone hears what Adam did--”

Against her will, Blake shuddered, and her ears drooped. “Maybe… it would be best to keep that quiet for now.”

“Why?”

“It’s…” Blake could feel her stomach drop, remembering the expression on Adam’s face. It was a face that haunted her dreams, and even when she was alone, she still had the lingering fear that she’d once again hear the _thud_ of his boots. What would he say, when he found out she was still alive? What would he do, when she destroyed his reputation by coming back from the dead with the truth? Automatically, she shot a cautious glance to the road, and stepped sideways away from it. “It’s just… I don’t want to dwell on it.”

At first, Ilia said nothing. She regarded Blake almost sadly. “The town would be on your side, Blake,” she said at last. “You should’ve seen how quick they were to get out and search for you. No one believed him when he said you went back to the city. Everyone knows how possessive he is, and several people talked about seeing bruises on your--”

“ _Ilia_ ,” Blake interrupted warningly, hating the hot shame that rushed to her face. She couldn’t even look at Ilia, choosing instead to stare at the ground. “I don’t want to talk about it. Please, I don’t even want to _think_ about it.”

“Okay,” Ilia replied softly, conceding. “We don’t need to talk about it, and if you want me to, I can be discreet about you being… alive. I can tell Sun, and if there’s anyone else you want to know, I’ll tell them, too.”

“Thank you, Ilia.” Blake pushed through her discomfort with a smile. “And… we’ll figure this out as we go. Maybe he’ll forget, or he’ll… settle down, or something. Or… I don’t know.”

“Yeah,” Ilia said, frowning a little as she continued to watch Blake. There was a slight blue tinge to her skin, and it made Blake recall bruises. “But… just because you don’t want to do anything about it now doesn’t mean you should bottle it all up, okay?”

“I’m not bottling anything up,” Blake replied, folding her arms, ears flattening.

“Okay,” Ilia said, raising her hands in surrender. “I just… wanted you to know that if you ever need to talk about it… I’m always willing to listen. And…” She paused. “I bet Yang would, too. She loves you, and after everything you’ve told me… I _know_ she’d listen. You’ve been through a lot, but if you hold onto it… it’ll just hurt you more, believe me.”

Blake tightened her arms, like she was hugging herself. But she was out of the situation now, she reminded herself. She wasn’t holding onto it; she was just letting it stay in the past. She certainly didn’t need to keep thinking about it.

“It’ll be fine,” Blake replied, forcing another smile. “But thank you.”

Still, Ilia’s words had struck a nerve, and she felt uneasy as Ilia gave her a final hug. But Ilia didn’t seem to notice, and when she pulled away, her relief was plain on her face.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “Visit again soon?”

“Of course I will,” Blake replied, eyes softening. “Maybe this time next week?”

“I’d like that.” Ilia brightened. “I’ll even tell Sun, and maybe even Coco and Velvet, or something.”

“Yeah.” Blake’s smile felt a little more natural as she nodded; maybe that was the effect hope had on people. “I’d like that.”

As she tromped toward the woods, she gave Ilia a final wave, the guilt of her supposed death finally beginning to ease.

It felt better, too, to push down her worries and memories of the past. It had been uncomfortable talking about it with Ilia, but now, she could ignore it again. As the snow crunched beneath her boot, she liked to think that she was crushing that past pain with it. She held onto the good things-- the potential of seeing friends again, with connecting with the town, and maybe one day having Yang meet them all.

There were a lot of good things in her future; there was little point in dwelling on the past.

When she was in the trees, out of sight of Ilia’s house, Blake came to a halt. She pulled her key out of her shirt, tightening it in her hand. It wouldn’t be of any use yet, but she hoped it would put her into a more… _magical_ state of mind. She kissed it, and let it fall back against her chest. It was time to test her skills.

She walked deeper into the woods, trying to focus on her love for Yang and keep that flame burning hot in her soul. As Yang had described it, that attachment would automatically guide her toward Yang. That was supposedly what had happened that night when she’d escaped to Yang’s cottage; her drive had been so focused on Yang that the magic had simply pushed her along.

Those were Yang’s words for it, anyway. Blake couldn’t be sure if it was working now.

It didn’t feel like it was working, although she remembered that when Yang _walked_ through the forest, it always felt so subtle. The trees always seemed to make the transition seamless, which certainly didn’t help Blake figure it out. They all looked the same, and it was impossible to say if it was because of magic or if it was because she was just walking normally.

After about fifteen minutes of walking, she stopped again, frowning. Did it matter if she was going in the right direction? Yang had said that it didn’t matter which direction she was going in, but what if it _did_ make a difference? Blake looked up, trying to figure out if the altitude had changed.

Behind her, a branch snapped.

Blake whirled around, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck spring up. She felt eyes on her, but saw no one.

“Who’s there?” she called, taking a step backward. Her eyes darted all around, trying to catch a glimpse of a shadow, or a shape. It was Adam, she thought automatically, her heart pumping so hard that it _hurt_. He’d found her, and he’d followed her… 

She pressed the key against her chest, trying to take comfort from the metal, like it could ease the aching strain on her heart. She had to leave, she had to run. She spun, stumbling a little in the snow as she tried to run. Unthinking, she looked back over her shoulder one last time.

It wasn’t Adam.

Blake didn’t know _who_ this was. She clutched her chest, feeling it burn as if she’d sprinted a mile. She panted, her vision blurring for a moment. It wasn’t Adam, she thought, though she didn’t feel relief from it. It wasn’t Adam.

This figure stood only yards away, clad in a long, oversized black cloak that wasn’t unlike Yang’s. The hood was pulled over their head, and all Blake could see underneath was a red-streaked white mask, taking on the disfigured appearance of a monster.

Maybe the villagers had been right; maybe these woods _were_ haunted. Oddly, this idea didn’t unsettle her nearly as much as the possibility that it had been Adam. Blake tried to straighten, to recover her courage.

“Who are you?” she demanded, though the question came out sounding more breathless and feeble than she’d intended. The figure didn’t move, or respond. Angry, Blake asked, “And why are you following me?”

The figure shrugged the cloak around them, two hands coming out. They wore a long black skirt, a simple design woven around its middle. The shirt was even more plain, dyed a deep red with wooden buttons. But as simple as this woman looked, Blake took a cautious step back. If this was a pooka, she didn’t want to risk being cursed.

But the woman only drew back her hood, long black hair flowing loose and catching on the breeze. She shook it out, and then pulled off the mask.

Blake knew this wasn’t Yang. This woman was older, paler, her hair black and eyes a deep red. But Blake could see Yang in her face, in her hair, in the way her mouth quirked. Slowly, Blake’s brows deepened in a frown. This could only be one person, she realized.

“You’re Raven,” she said, less a question and more a statement of fact. Raven’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“And you’re Blake,” she replied, so patient that it almost felt like she was mocking her. Goosebumps ran down Blake’s spine. She could _hear_ it in her voice, that natural timbre of a banshee, full of its potential to bewitch. Blake crossed her arms, on guard.

“So what are you doing here?” She narrowed her eyes. “And how do you know who I am?”

“Am I not allowed to visit my own daughter?” Raven asked, all innocence, and Blake couldn’t tell whether her tone sounded offended or mocking once more. She suspected the latter.

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I seem to recall that you’ve ignored her for the past decade,” she replied, determined not to be goaded. “I don’t think my questions are unreasonable.”

Raven stared at her for a moment, her red eyes boring into Blake’s. She truly did look like a negative copy of Yang; it was almost chilling. Then, she sighed.

“Fine,” she said, taking a few steps closer. She regarded Blake closely, then said, “I’m here because I received a message. From Ruby.”

Blake’s ears perked up with surprise. “Ruby?” She frowned. “ _She_ asked you to come here?”

“Well, not to come, exactly,” Raven admitted, brushing a thumb over the edge of her mask. “But her message made me curious.”

“What was the message?”

For a moment, Raven didn’t respond. Reluctance? Or was she simply reserved with her words? Blake didn’t let herself break her stare. She wouldn’t back down anymore.

Then, Raven’s lip curled, in a half-smile that looked too similar to Yang’s.

“You know,” Raven said at last, shifting her weight. “I’m surprised. You’re not as meek as I was expecting.”

Blake glared, affronted, and Raven’s smile stretched just a little.

“I hear you’ve been doing a little magic,” she said. She jutted her head in the general direction Blake had been walking in. “Was that what you were trying to do just now?”

“What does it matter to you?”

“Because it looks like you were failing at it,” Raven replied matter-of-factly. “Let me guess. You’re trying to get back to Yang’s house, right?”

It unnerved Blake a little that Raven seemed to _know_. She supposed that it wouldn’t have been hard to make the connection that she was going back to Yang’s house… but how did Raven know that she’d been trying to do so with magic?

Raven chuckled, then strode closer. Blake braced herself, but Raven only set a hand on Blake’s shoulder.

“Close your eyes,” she instructed. When Blake didn’t, vague irritation flashed across Raven’s face. “Do you want to use magic or not?”

Still suspicious, Blake closed her eyes. It wouldn’t be hard to shrug out of Raven’s grip, and a part of her was tempted to do just that. However, if Raven was going to help her use her magic…

“Now focus,” Raven instructed, voice low and melodic. “All of your thoughts, all of your emotions. They go back to one person, don’t they?”

“Yes,” Blake murmured. Without any visual distraction, it felt like all her thoughts were trying to align.

“It feels natural, doesn’t it?” Raven asked smoothly. “That connection. It’s like a part of you always gravitates toward her.”

“Yes,” Blake repeated.

“Like the needle of a compass, always being pulled north,” Raven said quietly. “Like the flow of a river’s current. Let it take you. Give yourself to it.”

Blake didn’t move, or open her eyes. It was like her body was trying to synchronize with the energy of that connection, to align itself with her thoughts, her feelings. It was warm, like being in Yang’s arms. It was peaceful, it was vulnerable.

It was love, Blake thought curiously, opening her eyes. The energy she was feeling was just… love. But at the same time, it was so much more than that. This love, this energy, was just an extension of _herself_ , as capable as any limb, if she could just find the right muscles to use it with.

“Do you feel it?” Raven asked, eyes darting between Blake’s with something that almost looked like nervousness. Blake gave a sharp nod.

“It feels…” Blake turned, reaching a hand out and _pressing_ a bit of that energy into it, trying to focus all of it into locating Yang. Her eyes widened; she could _feel_ Yang. If she concentrated long enough, she knew, she had a feeling she could even tell what Yang was doing, or humming, or identify the rhythm of her heartbeat. If she moved in that direction, she knew she’d be able to find her easily. “I know where to go!”

“Use her as an anchor,” Raven said. “And just let it pull you along. This won’t require much on your part. It’s like… you’re in the water, and someone’s thrown you the rope. You’ve grabbed a hold of it. All you need to do is hold onto that, and you’ll be pulled along naturally. The hard part was just grabbing that rope.”

“Now what?” Blake asked, still startled. Raven shrugged.

“You walk.”

With a questioning look to Raven, Blake took a tentative step forward. Somehow, it _did_ feel like she was being pulled toward something, and she stumbled. Raven, who hadn’t released her shoulder, helped her stay on her feet.

“You’ll get the hang of it, with practice,” Raven said, tone clipped. “If you were only using the magic of the forest, it would’ve taken longer to figure it out, but you caught on fast. I have to say, I’m impressed. Ruby was right. And here I thought she might’ve been exaggerating.”

“Right? About what?” Constantly aware of that connection to Yang, Blake continued to walk. She frowned as Raven slipped an arm through hers, and she yanked it away. “Don’t touch me.”

“I can get to Yang’s house without your help,” Raven said. She held her arm out. “I just thought you might want to talk a little before we get there. Touching ensures we move at the same pace.”

There was validity to that, Blake supposed. It was why Yang always held her arm, or her hand, whenever they moved through the forest. And she _was_ curious.

“Fine,” she replied, taking Raven’s arm. It wasn’t as comfortable as holding onto Yang’s arm, but at least Raven wasn’t rough. They began to walk again, Blake constantly aware of that connection to Yang. “So what’s Ruby right about?”

“Your magic.” Raven replied. Though she didn’t lead, she kept an even pace with Blake. “She says you’re strong enough already that you’ve been seeing into the future a little. Is that so?”

“She told you that?”

“Is it true?” Raven repeated, enunciating each word, irritation creeping into her voice. Blake scowled.

“We haven’t been able to confirm it yet,” she admitted grudgingly, “but that’s what Yang thinks.”

“What do _you_ think?”

“I…” Blake recalled her visions. She couldn’t tell if her confidence was bolstered by the energy coursing through her, but she felt good about her answer when she said, “Yes. They feel like something that _will_ happen.” She paused. “So what?”

“It means,” Raven explained, “that you’ve come into a lot of magic very quickly. For most people, they grow up with it, and their magic grows with them. But you didn’t have magic before, did you?”

“I-- no.”

“Yang knows a fair bit about magic because she grew up with it all around her,” Raven added. The more they walked, Blake could feel that connection with Yang grow tighter, stronger, as they got closer. “But it also makes it harder for her to relate to what you’re experiencing, and it makes her a poor teacher.”

“She’s not--”

“She is.” Raven let out a small huff, though whether it was from amusement or annoyance, Blake couldn’t tell. “It takes a while, getting used to channeling that magic. She’s had her whole life to work with it, to a point where it’s second nature. For you, not so much, and I think she forgot to take that into account when she tried to teach you.”

“How would you know how she taught me?” Blake challenged. “She did just fine.”

Raven smiled wanly. “But you didn’t, did you? I could tell you were struggling, which is why I helped.”

“I would’ve figured it out,” Blake muttered, though she suspected she might not have. At least, not right away. Still, she didn’t appreciate Raven’s attitude.

“Right.” Raven sounded a little too pleased with herself.

“Was there a point to all this?” Blake asked, annoyed.

“Well, as I was saying, Ruby sent me a message about it. It’s not every day that someone spontaneously sees into the future,” she said. “So she asked me.”

“So she thinks you know why?”

“I _do_ know why,” Raven said. Blake waited, but she didn’t elaborate. She let the temptation hang in the air between them, an enticing carrot dangled, but Blake wouldn’t beg. She let the silence hang.

She was trying to think of something else to say-- something that didn’t sound quite so eager-- but the metal of her key felt warm on her chest. The trees ahead of her began to clear, and Blake stopped, amazed.

“That was fast,” Raven remarked, tone unreadable. “Are you sure this was your first time?”

Blake looked back at her quizzically. “I did it on accident once.”

“So your first time intentionally.” Raven pulled her arm out of Blake’s, striding ahead of her. “It must be a strong connection.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything.” Raven didn’t look back. “It has to do with _everything_.”

Blake pushed her way forward, determined to walk ahead of Raven. As much as she’d helped Blake, she still didn’t trust her intentions.

Fortunately, Raven didn’t seem to want to move terribly fast, meaning that Blake could dart ahead of her. Her boots crunched in the snow as she ran across the blanketed fields, passing bored-looking goats along the way, leaving Raven behind her.

Yang must have sensed she was coming. The door swung open, and Yang grinned delightedly.

“You did it!” She ran forward to meet her, wrapping her arms around Blake’s waist and swinging her in a circle. Blake ended up laughing, surprised for a moment out of her worry over Raven. “I knew you could do it!”

But her laugh was short-lived.

“Yang,” Blake said hurriedly, looking over her shoulder. “I have to tell you--”

She could feel Yang’s entire body tense, and Blake turned back around. Raven simply stood there, still on the edge of the farm’s clearing, watching them. Yang released Blake, taking a step forward protectively as Raven began to stride leisurely across the snowy field.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” Yang snarled. Blake couldn’t recall ever seeing this sort of anger on Yang’s face before; it was raw, hard, unforgiving, her eyes flaring red to rival her mother’s. Raven came to a stop before them, though not too close. Yang took another step forward, clenching a fist, but Blake stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm.

“Yang,” Raven said, almost softly. Somehow, even that softness still sounded like it held a degree of mockery. “Is this any way to treat your mother?”

“I think you lost the right to that title a decade ago,” Yang replied coldly. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, showing your face around here.”

“That’s why I brought a mask.” Raven held it up, her smile lazy. “Would you like me to put it on?”

Blake stole a quick look at Yang, whose expression didn’t change. “I have nothing to say to you,” she replied through gritted teeth. “Leave.”

Raven’s eyes flickered to Blake, clearly expecting her support. It was so entitled, so arrogant, that Blake’s first instinct was to not give it to her.

But, damn the woman, if she had answers… Blake wanted to hear them.

“She helped me figure out how to connect to my… magic,” she said hesitantly, each word feeling like she needed to pull it from her mouth. “She said she knows why I’ve suddenly… started being able to use it.”

Scowl not abating, Yang looked from Blake to Raven.

“What?”

“I was just telling Blake that you probably weren’t the best choice in teachers,” Raven said, absently fiddling with her mask. “Then again, beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose.”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

Blake was surprised to feel Yang was shaking beneath her hand. Comfortingly, Blake smoothing began to rub her arm.

“It’s not your fault,” Raven amended, coming closer. “You grew up, knowing how to find it in the world around you. It’s a little harder for people when it comes to them later in life, like a new muscle. If someone’s had no hands their whole life, then grew a set overnight, you wouldn’t expect them to know how to play an instrument the next day.”

Yang gave Raven a hard stare. Blake slid her hand along Yang’s back, hoping the touch soothed her.

“What would you know about it?” Yang demanded at last. “How did you even know who Blake is, or what she’s capable of?”

“Your sister sent me a letter, not too long ago,” Raven replied, her eyes never breaking away from Yang’s. “Telling me that you’d found a lover, who’d started seeing into the future when she’d never used magic before. She thought I might know why.”

“Ruby?” Yang asked, surprise causing her eyes to fade back to lilac. Then, she shook her head, finding her anger again. “Wait, _Ruby_ wrote to you? You’re still in touch with her, but never even tried to send me a letter?”

Blake could _feel_ the hurt in Yang’s voice. For a moment, she could’ve sworn she’d seen remorse flash in Raven’s eyes, before finding their cool aloofness once more.

“Ruby understands the code I live by,” she replied, her words taking a hard edge. “She respects my privacy, and only reaches out when it comes to magic she doesn’t understand. Like now.”

“Your _code_ ,” Yang repeated. “You mean how banshees need to live alone, and shouldn’t have any human attachment?”

“And a lot of good it did you,” Raven shot back, giving Blake a pointed look. “You went and did the exact opposite of that code.”

“I did it for ten _long_ years.” Yang’s voice was barely restrained. “Ten years, of not leaving this valley. Ten years, of living on my own. Ten years, after you _left_ me here without a word. I didn’t even know if you were still _alive_.”

“It was a clean break.”

“I kept thinking you were going to come _back_.” Yang’s voice cracked on the last word. “And I _waited_ for you.”

“I tried to prepare you,” Raven replied. “You knew the day would come. This valley wanted _you_ , not me.”

“You could’ve told me. You could’ve said goodbye.”

Though Blake knew that this pain must have run deep, Yang stood her ground. She didn’t cry, even though Blake could feel her breathing get shorter, and more uneven. She just continued to glare at Raven, unrelenting.

Raven finally sighed, averting her gaze. “I didn’t come here to justify myself,” she said, eyes drifting to the woods. “I’m here to offer some insight.”

“Into what?” Yang scoffed. “Into Blake? You’ve never even met her before.”

“It’s more about what she’s capable of.” Raven refocused on Yang again. “And about what _you’re_ capable of.”

“What?” Yang looked at Blake, confusion washing over her anger.

“Tell me, Yang,” Raven went on, taking another step forward. Her eyes flickered between them once more. “How is _your_ magic?”

“What do you mean?” she asked suspiciously, looking at Blake. Up close, it was easy to see Yang’s nervousness with the question. “You know I’ve never been good at it.”

“You’ve always been so complacent in your mediocrity,” Raven remarked, causing Yang to stiffen once again. “But think about this for a moment: has your magic been feeling _stronger_ since you’ve met Blake?”

“No,” Yang replied automatically, sounding offended, but Blake’s eyes widened as she remembered.

“The boots,” she said quickly, turning toward Yang. “You said you didn’t think you could shrink them, but you did.”

“That’s…” Yang frowned, then looked back to Raven warily. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

A slow, humorless smile spread across Raven’s face. She gave a short nod. “Thought so.”

“Why?” Blake asked, ears pinning back defensively. 

“Summer used to have a saying,” Raven explained, eyes locked onto Yang. “ _Love is the strongest magic of all_.”

“I remember that,” Yang replied, guarded. Raven nodded again.

“And she wasn’t lying.” She paused. “It’s a connection between people. It’s… a deep sort of love, I guess. The truest love, some people might call it.”

Blake and Yang exchanged a cautious look.

“It’s called grá síoraí,” Raven said. “ _That_ is what pulled you two together. It’s the reason your magic is growing stronger, Yang. And it’s the reason Blake is developing it at all.”

“And how would you know? You’re not exactly the first person I’d go to when it comes to love.”

“Because,” Raven replied, smiling drolly, “grá síoraí is exactly what happened to me.”

\--

Blake could tell Yang was unhappy about letting Raven inside. Her jaw was clenched, her movements stiff as she made tea. Raven, for her part, didn’t seem to notice. She sat down comfortably at the table, looking around with vague interest at the room.

“You okay?” Blake asked Yang lowly, joining her at the woodstove. She wrapped an arm around her waist comfortingly. Yang gave a shrug, leaning just slightly against Blake.

“As okay as I can be, I guess,” she said lifelessly, staring down at the kettle. “It’s just… hard. Seeing her back here.” She swallowed. “I just… wish she hadn’t come back. Even if she _does_ have answers.”

“I know, my love,” Blake murmured, rubbing her side. “I’m… sorry, for my part in this.”

“It’s not your fault,” Yang replied, sighing. “I know she caught you alone on purpose. She knew she’d have better luck trying to talk with you when I wasn’t around, when she could catch you off-guard. That’s just how she works.”

Blake bit her lip, then nodded. She looked back over at Raven, slightly unnerved when she saw Raven was already watching them. Blake glared.

“Do you mind?” she grumbled.

“I’m just looking,” Raven said, raising her hands in surrender. “I’m just surprised at all the changes Yang’s made around here.”

“Well, I had to find something to do in my solitude,” Yang muttered. “Not everyone gets to gallivant around the countryside as a wandering banshee.”

“You act like being a wanderer is easier,” Raven replied. “Never knowing where I’d find my next meal, or a place to sleep at night. Never knowing if you’d be safe when you need to sing.”

“You made your choice,” Yang said evenly, still not looking back as she lifted the kettle off the stove. “You always could’ve come back here. Or gone back to Patch to live with Dad.”

“You know I couldn’t do that. That would go against my--”

“Code. I know.” Yang poured the hot water into the waiting mugs. “I know _all_ about your _code_.”

Neither of them said anything as Yang and Blake brought the mugs to the table, setting one in front of Raven. Blake sat down first, and when Yang joined her, she immediately placed a hand against Yang’s back.

“Maybe that’s a good place to start,” Blake said, broaching the uneasy silence. “Your code. I thought you said you had-- what did you call it?”

“Grá síoraí,” Raven explained, warming her hands on the mug.

“ _Eternal love_ ,” Yang translated. She set a hand on Blake’s knee. “And you’re telling me that it’s a kind of magic?”

“Yes.” Raven’s expression never changed. “It’s a rare magic, and elusive. But it’s real.”

“What does it mean?” Blake asked, frowning. “And how does it involve magic?”

“Think of all the people in this world,” Raven said, rolling a shoulder. “The old legends and fables would have you believe that at some point, before the dawn of time, all these people were a part of some greater whole. That certain souls were _meant_ to be with other certain souls, and would be joined together for eternity.”

Beneath the table, Yang gripped Blake’s knee harder.

“Then, as always happens in these sorts of legends, catastrophe strikes. Usually, it’s an angry god, or some sort of upheaval in the universe.” Raven rolled her eyes. “But for whatever reason, those souls were wrenched apart, and cast adrift in the world, always separated from their other part of their soul, a fragment of who they’re supposed to be. And forever after, people dedicate their lives to search for that missing piece of their soul. They fall in love, always hoping to find it.”

Yang and Blake exchanged a confused glance.

“I’m not saying the legend is true. I’m sure there are hundreds of legends surrounding the idea of _soulmates_.” She raised her shoulders in a shrug, as if to say that she didn’t buy any of it. “But it’s the best explanation we’ve got for grá síoraí. Whether or not they’re true… there _is_ something that happens when two-- or more-- souls share this kind of connection. It’s like the universe’s way of _completing_ them, and making them whole. And, as you’d expect, when you’re not just a sliver of the person you used to be… your souls become stronger.”

“So you think that’s what Blake and I have,” Yang said dubiously.

“You tell me.” Raven took a sip of her tea.

“It’s like… I can feel her,” Yang murmured, staring hazily at her tea. “Almost like a song.”

Raven closed her eyes. “I remember how that felt,” she said quietly. “All that potential for song.”

“You… know?” Yang asked, looking up sharply. “You know what I’m talking about?”

“Of course I do.” Raven let her gaze drift, her smile not meeting her eyes. “Banshees sing for conclusions, Yang. For change. And there was no greater change to my life than the day I met Summer and Tai. They were mo chuid shíorghrá. Meeting them awoke the magic inside Tai and I, and it turned Summer into the most powerful witch I’d ever seen. The three of us… we were _connected_.”

“You felt it,” Yang said faintly. Raven nodded.

“It took me a while to come around to it, of course. The tribe I come from is very… traditional, and when my twin and I were born with our gifts… we were taught to hide away from others.”

“Her brother-- my uncle Qrow-- is what most people refer to as a pooka,” Yang explained. “So a banshee and a pooka…”

“Bad luck,” Blake said, grimacing.

“Or so they say,” Raven said with a sigh. “Anyway, despite my tribe’s warnings… I couldn’t resist the song. The grá síoraí.”

She shook her head ruefully, and took another sip of her tea. 

“Summer taught me and Tai to use magic,” she went on. “Aside from my songs, I didn’t know any. I didn’t even have a basic connection with the forest-- Qrow and I were only supposed to be here for a season, so we didn’t know Cnoc na Bumbóg. But after meeting them… I couldn’t bring myself to leave.”

“Touching,” Yang said, coldness creeping back into your voice. “So, you found your grá síoraí, found your magic, moved to Patch. Yet now you wander Remnant, not making any connections with anyone.”

“Can you blame me?” Raven asked, a hint of temper making her tone flare. “You sang Summer’s death with me.”

“It was my first song,” Yang remarked sadly. Gently, Blake found her hand, and held it. “I was twelve, and had been looking forward to the day I’d sing for the first time. You brought me to the clifftops of Patch, and we sang together.”

“It was a beautiful song,” Raven said, little more than a murmur. “But her song was always a beautiful one.”

For a moment, Yang said nothing. She shot a look at Blake, her expression so open that Blake could _watch_ Yang’s train of thought, from discomfort, to pain, then to horror as something dawned on her.

“Wait.” Yang turned back to Raven, staring at her. “If you had that connection to Summer and Dad… You would’ve known that was Summer’s song. You would’ve _known_.”

“Yeah.” Raven wrapped both hands around the mug of her tea, but she didn’t lift it. She only looked down at it, staring at it, looking tired. “I did.”

Yang said nothing, but Blake had a feeling she knew what she was thinking about. It had only been a month since Yang had found Blake in the woods, after all; her own song might have been cut short as easily as Summer’s had been. History had nearly been repeated that day.

“And that’s why you left?” Blake asked.

“Yes.” Raven lifted the tea to her mouth, but didn’t drink.

“But you still had someone,” Yang pointed out, glaring. “You still had that connection with Dad, didn’t you? Did you even _think_ about him? About _us_?”

“Tai,” Raven muttered, expression unreadable as she sipped. She set it down, then shook her head slowly. “By leaving like I did, I was doing him a favor.”

“It was selfish.”

“It was _mercy_.” Raven’s temper hit the surface, and it was like the atmosphere around them turned to ice with her sharp words. Blake stiffened, but Raven’s red eyes were fixed squarely on Yang’s. “By leaving… it dulled our connection, and our magic. But it’s worth it. If something were to happen to me, he wouldn’t have come undone like he’d done for Summer. He would be able to detach from it. He wouldn’t have to experience pain like that again.”

“Which is it, Mom?” Yang replied quietly. “Was it mercy for him? That you didn’t want _him_ to suffer? Or was it about _you_?”

She looked up, scanning Raven’s face.

“I can already see the answer,” she muttered, shaking her head, sounding disappointed, and bitter… but unsurprised. “ _You_ were the one who didn’t want to risk it again, singing for a person you loved. Gods, and you even convinced _me_ not to risk it. It had nothing to do with Dad.”

“Can you blame me?” Raven asked. She gestured to Blake. “You can’t _imagine_ the pain of singing for someone you have such a connection to. Of knowing that you just sang their death song. That _you_ were the one who consigned them to that fate.”

Yang’s eyes flickered over to Blake. Of course, Yang knew well what a song like that would feel like.

“But you _didn’t_ cause Summer’s death,” Yang reminded her. “You didn’t consign her to anything. You know that. You just want an excuse to be a martyr.”

Raven twitched, looking like she’d been slapped. “Excuse me?”

“Look at you. A wandering banshee, no connection to anywhere or anyone. You can’t do magic like you used to. You’ve _chosen_ to suffer, but you don’t need to.”

“I haven’t--”

“You could go back to Dad! If grá síoraí is as strong as you say it is, I’m sure he’d at least be willing to _talk_ to you.” Yang’s glare was hard, but when she glanced back at Blake, that glare evaporated. “Death comes for all of us. But we can’t live in fear of when that day comes. I can’t imagine not having Blake in my life anymore. Grá síoraí or not… we aren’t letting fear define us.” She gave Blake a strange, lopsided smile. “I did that for too long already.”

Raven’s eyes were wide, but so was Blake’s smile. Just hours earlier, it had been Yang voicing concerns and uncertainties. But maybe Raven’s cowardice bolstered her own confidence; she’d seen where Raven had made mistakes. Yang wouldn’t make the same ones. Blake slinked an arm around Yang’s waist, giving her a miniscule squeeze.

“You say that now,” Raven said, recovering her bravado. “But have you even considered what it might be like, of when the day comes when it will be _her_ song that you sing? You can’t even begin to think what it’s like, singing for someone you’ve got a connection like this with.”

She nodded toward Blake, but Yang wasn’t deterred.

“I don’t need to think,” Yang replied smoothly, meeting Raven’s eyes squarely. “I already sang a song for Blake.”

“You… sang for her?”

For the first time, Raven looked utterly dumbfounded, eyes round and her dark eyebrows shooting up.

“Yeah.” Yang’s half-smile seemed forced. “I sang for her, and I’d never been so scared. And she _did_ nearly die. But… she didn’t. She _lived_. And now she’s here. And I’m still standing here, with her.” Under the table, Yang twined her fingers with Blake’s. Raven continued to stare, looking back and forth between Blake and Yang like she wasn’t believing what she was seeing.

“Are… you sure it was for her?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Yang snapped. "I knew it was her song as much as you knew it was Summer's."

“So why didn’t she die?” Raven demanded, one decibel away from angry, as if the fact that Blake had lived was an affront to _her_.

“She almost did!”

“But she _didn’t_. Banshees don’t sing for _near_ -death.” Raven continued to glower at Yang. “So if the song was really about her, she shouldn’t have--”

“Banshees sing for change,” Blake said suddenly. Both Raven and Yang turned to look at her, Yang now looking more startled than anything else, while Raven’s expression didn’t change. “For conclusions, like you said.”

It had been something she’d been considering since she’d moved to Yang’s: if Blake hadn’t died when Yang had sung for her, what had that song meant? She’d had a private guess, but now, with Raven here to reiterate what a banshee sang for, Blake felt more certain.

“The day you sang… that was kind of like… the point of no return for us. In a way.” Blake tried not to think too often of what had happened to her that night; the memories of that pain still felt like their own kind of agony. But it _had_ been a turning point. “Everything that happened… it led to my decision to leave for good. And your own decision to let me stay.” Yang’s eyebrows rose, though Raven remained unmoved. “So maybe it _was_ a death, in a way. A death of the life we lived before. Not just for me, but for you, too. Maybe that’s why you sang it. It was the death of… well, an era for us.”

Yang’s eyes widened, a glassy sheen to them as her whole expression softened. She lifted a hand, cupping Blake’s cheek. “And it brought about something beautiful, and new,” she added. She breathed out a small, shaky laugh. “Gods. If _that’s_ what the song meant… then I’m glad to have sung it.”

Blake leaned in, kissing her, her heart flopping like they were only kissing for the first time. It was fate that bound them together-- that’s all grá síoraí was, wasn’t it? This was the love she was meant to find, and it pulsated between them like a heartbeat. Like _magic_.

But she had to remember that they weren’t alone; while their life and love could be just for them, this moment wasn’t. Blake’s eyes flickered to Raven, expected judgement, or irritation, or even a rebuke.

What she _didn’t_ expect was to see a sort of wistfulness written across Raven’s face.

Of course, it was gone in a flash, replaced with bemusement. Blake bit the inside of her lip, uncertain if she should say something. Then, Raven sighed.

“Touching,” she said coolly. She drained the rest of her tea, then rose. “I hope this information is useful for you, Yang. Blake.” She gave them a nod. “Both of you should practice magic a little more. Push your limits, and see what you’re capable of. I know you know enough of spell theory, Yang, that you should be able to help Blake from here on out.”

Yang narrowed her eyes, but Raven didn’t give her a chance to interrupt..

“But now, though… I should probably get going,” she went on, businesslike. “It’ll be dark soon, and I don’t like flying at night.”

“I’m surprised you’re telling me this time,” Yang replied, voice flinty.

“Flying?” Blake asked, blinking, wondering if maybe she’d misheard.

“She turns into a bird,” Yang explained. She fixed her hard stare back on Raven. “Makes it easy for her to run away.”

“It was Summer, who gave me the ability,” Raven added coldy. Then, she seemed to wilt, just a little. “It’s… all I’ve got left of her.”

Yang’s lips thinned, but she said nothing; maybe she didn’t know what to say, or maybe the chasm between them was too wide. But it seemed like Yang’s animosity had left her. At least, for the moment. She and Blake stood, and Yang wasted no time in grabbing Raven’s empty mug.

“So you just came to tell us about grá síoraí? And that’s all?” Blake asked as Yang took all the mugs back to the kitchen. After another look at Yang, Raven nodded, all of her attention back on Blake.

“Yes,” she replied, one corner of her mouth turning up. She pulled her cloak off its hook and clasped it around her neck. “Teaching you to connect to your magic was just a bonus.”

“Yeah.” Despite her misgivings, Blake sighed, and tried to smile. “Thanks for that.”

Raven’s eyes crinkled a little, like she was considering a smile of her own. “You’re welcome. I remember how it was, not knowing how to connect with magic. I got lucky, that Summer could help us figure it out.”

“I bet. I’m sure Ruby would’ve helped me eventually, but it’ll be a few months before we see her again.”

“Ruby,” Raven said, so close to fondness, brushing her thumb along the door’s latch. “She was always so much like her mother.”

Yang looked over at Raven, and Raven looked over at her. She gave Yang a nod, which Yang returned. There would be no warm embrace, or smiles. Just coldness.

“Until we meet again, Yang,” Raven said, almost formally. Yang gave a curt nod.

“Likewise.”

For a long second, Raven seemed to study Yang, taking her in. It was like Raven was trying to think of something else to say, but, failing to come up with something, she looked away and yanked the door open.

“Wait,” Blake said, brows furrowing, a thought coming to her at the last minute. Before Raven shut the door behind her, Blake held the door and followed her out to stand on the stoop. “If Tai knows about grá síoraí… why didn’t _he_ tell us about it? Or… you could’ve just told Ruby, who could’ve told us. Why come at all?”

At first, Blake thought Raven wasn’t even going to respond. She stepped outside into the cold winter air and looked up. The sky was already beginning to tinge pink. 

“I never expected Yang to find her síorghrá,” Raven admitted, finally turning. She paused, an odd look coming over her face. She covered it quickly as she pulled her mask on, before Blake could really figure out what it meant. “I taught her well. She’d managed to go so long without making any connections to people, or forming any sort of attachment. So hearing that she’d found her síorghrá…”

Raven shrugged a shoulder, then looked back up into the blushing sky.

“I really just wanted to see if she was happy. And… I’m glad to see that she is.”

Raven took a step backward, and Blake opened her mouth to respond. The words died in her throat, however, as Raven _changed_ in front of her. As quick as a whipcrack, Blake’s first thought was that Raven had disappeared completely. But no-- a black bird flapped its wings where Raven had stood.

It hovered, fixing Blake with a beady-eyed stare, then took off, croaking as it flew toward the trees.

“Is she gone?” Yang asked from behind her. Blake heard the gentle tread of her footsteps, and she turned to face her.

“Yeah.” Blake jutted her head in the direction Raven had flown off in. “She really _does_ turn into a bird.”

“It’s a neat trick,” Yang agreed, smiling weakly. With Raven gone, her anger had fallen away. All that was left was downcast sadness in her eyes. Blake set a comforting hand on her waist.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly. Yang bobbed her head with half-hearted affirmation.

“I will be. It was all just… unexpected, seeing her like this,” Yang replied. Blake reached up, running a hand through Yang’s hair, who closed her eyes at the touch. “I didn’t really think I’d ever see her again.”

Blake brushed her thumb against Yang’s cheek, feeling the tension leave her face. Yang opened her eyes, her smile looking a little more peaceful.

“Still, I think a part of me was… relieved, I guess. To see her.” She paused. “That she hasn’t _totally_ forgotten about me.”

“I don’t think anyone ever could,” Blake replied, and though her tone was slightly teasing, her words were sincere. She leaned in, pressing a comforting kiss to Yang’s lips before adding, “You’re one of those kinds of people that are impossible to forget.”

“As are you, m’amhrán,” Yang said. Her lips quirked thoughtfully. “Mo shíorghrá.”

“Mo shíorghrá,” Blake repeated, smiling, as they kissed again.

So close to Yang, it was easier for Blake to close her eyes, and reach for that connection again. The warmth it gave her was still so familiar, but now Blake could identify the energy in it, the potential. This was magic. This was love.

And it felt like sunlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, pronunciation key!
> 
> Grá síoraí - graw SHEE-ree  
> Mo (chuid) shíorghrá - muh (kwid) HEER-gra (mo shíorghrá is what you’d call your own eternal love!)  
> Síorghrá - SHEER-gra
> 
> I wanted to be as accurate to Irish grammar as I could, which is why there’s so many spelling variations/changes throughout the chapter-- it might seem confusing at times, but grammatically, it all works out. Special shout-out to @20nirnroots on tumblr for helping me figure out how exactly I was going to say it in specific contexts!!
> 
> Another MASSIVE shout-out to @wary-taru who’s started drawing gorgeous art from this fic!! There’s [a sad Blake from chapter one](https://wary-taru.tumblr.com/post/625669942934749185/wind-rustled-through-the-trees-and-blake), [surprised Yang from chapter one](https://wary-taru.tumblr.com/post/625670120784658432/she-closed-her-eyes-allowing-herself-a-moment-to), [Yang post-song from chapter three](https://wary-taru.tumblr.com/post/626004172304744448/from-the-fic-banshee-by-pugoata-its-one-of-my%E2%80%9D)! I am BLOWN AWAY!! Thank you so much!! 
> 
> One final note: I think I’ve narrowed down the ending! I’ve got two chapters left, then an epilogue, that I’ll post at the same time as the last chapter. So technically, just two updates left on this fic. I’m not sure how long it’ll take-- I still need to write a little more for my bumbleby big bang fic, too! But the end is nigh~


	13. Chapter 13

Blake stifled a yawn behind her hand, letting out a small sound that was almost a squeak. Beside her, Yang looked up, raising an eyebrow with amusement.

“Sleepy?” she teased, patting Blake’s leg. Blake had strung her legs out across Yang’s lap while she knitted and Blake read. It was comfortable, with Yang stroking her shins every so often, feeling the warmth from the fire and the half-knit sweater that was strewn across her. This was one promise Yang had kept: since moving in with her, Blake had never been cold.

“I guess,” she replied, but even as she said it, she felt another yawn grow. She clapped a hand over her mouth again, and Yang chuckled.

“You can nap a little bit, if you want.”

“I’m good.” Blake ran a thumb over the page of her open book, staring down blankly at the words. “I don’t want to get into the habit of napping. Spring’ll be here before we know it, and we’ll be too busy to nap then.”

“True,” Yang agreed. “But one nap doesn’t necessarily make a habit.” She paused. “Did you sleep badly last night or something?”

“It just… took a while to fall asleep,” Blake said, opting for the half-truth. “You know how I’ve been trying to… induce visions? I guess I just lose track of time when I’m doing that.”

“Oh, yeah.” Yang brightened, looking up. “Any luck?”

“Not really,” Blake replied, feeling guilty relief for how Yang seemed to jump at this explanation. “Sometimes, I can almost feel it… like, I’ll catch a sound, or a smell, or _something_. But it’s always behind… almost like a sort of veil, I guess. Just out of reach, but always close enough that every time, I convince myself that if I spend just a _little_ longer on it, I’ll finally break through.”

“You’ll get there,” Yang said confidently, returning to her careful stitches. “It’s always a little harder, trying to do things intentionally.”

“Yeah.”

Yang laughed, eyes darting back to Blake. “Do you want me to help? I can always poke you if you’ve been at it for too long.”

Blake smiled, but shook her head. “I just need to be a little more disciplined.”

“All right.” Yang was still smiling as she rubbed Blake’s shin. “Just don’t feel bad if you need a nap.”

“Noted.”

Blake stared back down at her book, though her thoughts were flying in too many different directions to be able to pin down the words on the page. It was getting increasingly harder to focus.

Since moving in with Yang, Blake had always felt an undercurrent of anxiety: what would happen if she saw Adam again? Her brain constantly throbbed with unpleasant possibilities. And now, they started to seep into her sleeping hours, hazy at first, casting new, foreboding shadows onto her dreams. She would awaken in the night, convinced that Adam was lurking in the shadows of their bedroom, or peeking through the window. Her heart would pound, and she’d curl up closer to Yang and squeeze her eyes shut.

In the past couple weeks, however, she began to see her nightmares more vividly. 

Sometimes, she was back in Adam’s house, his body blocking the doorway of their bedroom while a heavy sock swung from his fist. Other times, it was a knife he held, the metal gleaming red with her blood. Most recently, she was standing on Yang's ridge, frozen at its edge while Adam approached with a long blade. Though he never reached her in those dreams, she always awoke from them with a pounding heart and sweat soaking her nightshirt. 

She hated her own weakness, but she wouldn't burden Yang with something as trivial as a bad dream.

"Let's make sure we go to bed early tonight, hm?" Yang added casually, eyes flickering back to Blake. "If you yawn tomorrow, your friends will think I’m keeping you from sleeping."

"They won't think that," Blake said firmly, reaching for Yang's hand. She knew Yang was getting more and more nervous about the upcoming visit to Ilia’s house. _She_ was the one who needed reassurance, Blake reminded herself. Not her. "They're going to love you."

"We'll see," Yang replied, though her tense muscles relaxed at Blake's touch. She paused, setting down her knitting, to place her other hand on top of Blake's. Uncertainty and anxiety were written plainly all over her face, and Blake wished she could soothe it all away. "I'm… still worried about what they'll think. Of me, I mean."

"We're not telling them about your gift yet," Blake reminded her. They'd discussed the limits of their conversation, and both agreed to keep Yang's true identity a secret for the time being. "So what they see will be the only thing that matters to them. They'll see you for _you_ , not for what you are."

"But that's just it." Yang rubbed her forehead. "It's been years since I've really talked to people like this. It was easier, one-on-one, with you… but like this? I don't… What if I've forgotten how to talk to people? What if I'm… too strange, or something?"

"Yang," Blake murmured, leaning closer and cupping her cheek. Yang turned to face her, and beneath that anxiety, Blake saw wavering fear. "You're going to be just fine. Okay? They know everything you've done for me, and what a good person you are. That's all that matters to them."

Yang took a deep, jagged breath, then nodded. Blake scooted as close as she could, then pressed her forehead to Yang's.

"I love you," Blake added softly. "Mo shíorghrá. How could they not like someone like you?"

"You give me way too much credit," Yang mumbled, but at last she was starting to smile again-- a real one, not a worried grimace. She pressed a kiss to Blake's lips.

"It'll be okay," Blake said. "You'll see"

\--

For all Blake's reassurances, Yang's breathing was still a little too fast as they got closer to Ilia's house the next morning, her silences longer than usual. In an attempt to make her feel more at ease, Blake found herself taking on the bulk of the conversation, telling Yang more about Ilia and Sun. What they looked like, their Faunus traits, their personalities, even little anecdotes from the time she’d spent with them. Yang, for her part, tried to engage properly, smiling and nodding at the appropriate times, but her laughter sounded strained.

It was only the jitters, Yang had been quick to say, and Blake didn't have the heart to argue. She only squeezed Yang's hand, never mentioning how sweaty her palm was.

Blake could definitely sympathize; she felt a little jittery herself, though for an entirely different reason. She was _excited_ to finally introduce Yang to her friends. She knew they were all curious; Sun had even gone so far as to make remarks about whether or not Yang was even real. But now, finally, she was uniting her two worlds, the two important halves of her life.

It was the start of something new, for all of them.

At the edge of Ilia's farm, though, Yang stopped in her tracks, and Blake turned to her quizzically. 

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Yang said quickly, then gave Blake a sheepish smile. "It's just… I never leave the forest. It's… strange for me."

Blake softened, and nodded in understanding.

"I think I only left it one other time, this past year," Yang added thoughtfully. Her cheeks brightened with color, and Blake thought she could count every single one of her freckles. "And that was to check on you, months ago. And now… it's for you again." She paused, a nervous smile creeping across her face. "But, I think… this time, it's for myself, too."

Blake returned the smile, her whole body flooding with love. She reached her hand back out to Yang.

"Since it's for both of us," Blake replied, turning her palm up, "then let's do this. Together."

"Together," Yang repeated, taking Blake's hand.

And it was hand-in-hand, smiling, that they crossed the threshold.

Blake rapped at Ilia's door, shooting a nervous glance toward the road. In her recent visits to Ilia's house, she hasn't seen anyone on the road at all; since White Fang was a small village, even the main road had little traffic. Still, instincts made her wary. Yang, too, eyed the road anxiously, arms folded across her chest like she was hugging herself. She hung a little way back from the door, like a part of her wanted to hold onto an escape route, should the need arise. 

"It's going to be okay," Blake reminded her one last time, and Yang bobbed her head in acknowledgement, if not agreement. 

The door swung open, and Yang automatically recoiled. Blake took a step back, setting a comforting hand on Yang’s arm, but didn’t have time to speak; Ilia was already standing in the doorway, wearing an eager smile.

“Good morning, Blake!” Ilia said, already ushering them inside; she was getting accustomed to Blake’s worry of the road. Her eyes fell on Yang, and widened. “And you must be Yang!”

Yang gave Ilia a sheepish smile. “It’s… nice to meet you.”

For a moment, Ilia just stared at Yang, her freckles brightening pink. She leaned toward Blake, and lowered her voice. “No wonder you were such a mess when you told me about her.”

“ _Ilia_!” Blake could feel her cheeks burn, and her ears flattened with embarrassment. Yang, who hadn’t heard what Ilia had said, shifted her weight nervously.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Blake said quickly, and Ilia laughed out loud. Yang offered up a half-smile, like she wasn’t sure whether she should join in the laughter or not. “Anyway, Yang, this Ilia.”

“I’m so happy to meet you!” Ilia replied, extending a hand. Yang hesitated, then shook it. “I’ve wanted to meet you for a while now. After all you’ve done for Blake--”

“Can we just come in?” Blake asked with a sigh.

“Oh-- of course!” She stepped aside, waving them in. “I’ll get some tea going.”

When they stepped into the room, Yang looked around with cautious eyes, as if she was taking in every detail. It had been over a decade since she’d been inside someone else’s house, Blake knew, and she gave Yang’s hand a squeeze. Yang snapped back to attention, a blush on her cheeks.

“So she’s _real_!” Sun, who’d been sitting in the rocking chair, bounced up. His tail sprung from side to side energetically. “You’re Yang?!”

“Who else would she be?” Ilia asked drolly, shooting Sun a pointed look. “Blake _told_ us she was coming.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t really expect, uh…” His voice trailed off, probably realizing how rude he sounded. He cleared his throat. “Uh… and I’m Sun, by the way!”

“Nice to meet you,” Yang replied, the corners of her mouth twitching. Sun tilted his head curiously.

“You know, you’re not what I expected a hermit to look like.”

“ _Sun!_ ” Blake’s ears pinned back, but his outlandish words shocked a laugh out of Yang. It’s a real laugh, not forced or worried, and upon hearing it, Blake let herself relax. If Yang was comfortable enough to laugh at Sun’s bad jokes, they were all going to be just fine.

“So you really live in the woods? By yourself?” Ilia asked, when she’d finally returned with the mugs of tea. She set one in front of each of them at the kitchen table, and Blake idly slid the small honey jar in Yang’s direction.

“Well, not by myself. Anymore, I mean,” Yang said, stirring a large spoonful of honey into her tea, her cheeks stained red with either embarrassment or nervousness.

“Before you met Blake,” Ilia corrected, taking a slow sip of her tea.

“I didn’t even know any hermits _lived_ around here!” Sun added, grinning. “You must’ve been really sneaky about it.”

“What can I say? I’m a natural,” Yang replied, eyes beginning to twinkle.

Blake rolled her eyes, and took a sip of her own tea. For all of Yang’s worries, her social skills weren’t bad at all. Ilia was still clearly charmed, if her pink freckles meant anything, and Sun was always thrilled by a little banter.

“So, Yang,” Ilia said, sitting up a bit straighter. Yang’s newfound ease broke for a moment, and she focused warily on Ilia. “Tell us a little about yourself!”

As they’d planned, they stuck to the basics, careful to dodge any _whys_ or _hows_. They talked about their clandestine meetings in the woods, Yang’s hidden cottage, the way they were always drawn to each other. Before, Blake had been sparing on her details surrounding Yang; she’d been worried about accidentally exposing her secret. But now that Yang was here, they could explain things just a _little_ more. Eventually, Blake hoped, Ilia and Sun would be ready to hear it all.

“Magic,” Ilia remarked thoughtfully, taking a sip of her tea. “You know, when Blake first told me that you knew magic…” She paused, freckles deepening their blush. “My first thought was… that you might’ve been the witch that disappeared all those years ago.”

“Wait, a witch?” Sun asked, alarmed. Blake frowned, but Ilia only shook her head in amusement.

“There was a rumor that a witch used to live in the haunted forest. Decades ago, I mean,” Ilia said, setting her cup down. “My parents used to tell me stories, that she was centuries old and the most powerful witch on Remnant. So-- I know it sounds stupid-- but for a moment, I thought you might’ve been that witch, Yang.”

Blake sighed, covering her face in her hands. Yang, at least, took it in stride. She burst out laughing.

“You thought I was an old lady?” she asked, trying to sound affronted.

“I don’t know how this kind of thing works!” Ilia complained, the rest of her skin following her freckles by turning pink. “You might’ve just _looked_ young and... I don’t know. Used magic to keep yourself looking youthful, or something.”

“I’m not that old!” Yang said with a snort. “Besides, my magic isn’t good enough to be considered _witchy_.” She paused, mischief creeping into her eyes. “But, I _do_ know about the witch you’re talking about, though.”

“Really?” Ilia asked, leaning in. Yang shot Blake a quick glance and a wink.

“That witch was my mom.”

“Are you…?” Ilia began, then glared. “You’re messing with me now.”

“I’m telling the truth!” Yang replied with a laugh. Blake, who’d heard this story before, rolled her eyes fondly. “Though, she wasn’t old. My mom came from a long line of witches, and they lived here for generations, and I guess the legends made it sound like it was all the same person. But she only moved away after meeting my father.”

“So your _mom_ is a witch?” Sun asked, eyes widening, thoroughly enraptured.

“She was,” Yang said softly, smiling sadly. Blake set her hand atop Yang’s, brushing her thumb over Yang’s knuckles.

Talking about Yang’s family was a subject they’d planned for. If they could soften Sun and Ilia to the idea of witches and magic, and their relationship to Yang, then maybe they’d overcome their prejudices about banshees. However, Blake had expected her to talk about Ruby, not Summer. She supposed Summer _was_ the more natural route of the conversation, though, so Blake followed along with a nod. All she could do now was offer up a little comfort, and with the way Yang turned her hand over to twine her fingers with Blake’s, she could tell that comfort was appreciated.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ilia said, wincing. “My condolences.”

“It was long ago,” Yang said, infusing her tone with more cheer. “But yeah, that’s why the witch here suddenly disappeared. It was because mom found love and moved away.”

“That’s… a happier ending than I would’ve thought, for a witch,” Sun remarked. “Usually, those kinds of stories end with the witch melting, or something.”

“ _Sun_ ,” Blake said, appalled, but Yang was chuckling again.

“Believe me, I think Mom got the happiest ending she could’ve hoped for,” she replied, giving Blake’s hand a light squeeze. “It’s something I don’t think I ever really understood until I met Blake.”

Blake’s whole heart felt full, achingly so. Manners be damned, she leaned toward Yang, giving her a soft kiss, brushing her fingers against Yang’s cheek. She smiled, and closed her eyes.

Maybe it had something to do with the way she’d fully surrendered to the love in that single moment, and let it fill her soul entirely. Because when her eyes shut, she felt that veil again, but this time, she pushed through. She was swimming in a vision-- a real one, not one of those ghosts-of-visions that she’d been chasing after every night. This vision was solid, and real, and for a few seconds, Blake was _in_ it.

_She was standing ankle-deep in dirt, on Ilia’s farm. This was one of the fields, being tilled that spring. Blake could smell the dirt, and feel how cold it was between her toes. Yang stood beside her, a quizzical expression on her face as she kicked her shoes off to join her._

_“Do I have to be_ in _the dirt?” Yang asked, her voice brimming with laughter. Grinning, Blake reached her hand out toward her, feeling the sunlight hit her skin._

_“Just try it!” she insisted, and Yang, now truly laughing, grabbed her hand._

“Blake?” Ilia asked, sounding bemused.

Blake shook her head, eyes coming back into focus. She could almost still feel the dampness of the soil, and she wriggled her toes instinctively. But there wasn’t any dirt. Only her clean, dry socks.

“Sorry,” she said hastily, taking a quick sip of tea. “Just… got lost in my thoughts for a moment.”

Yang raised an eyebrow at her, and Blake felt a smile begin to grow on her face, the heat of a blush. The memory of that vision was so _good_ , so hopeful, so _happy_ , that she couldn’t help but cling to that joy. Hoping to convey the meaning of this sudden joy, she gave Yang a tiny nod, and squeezed her hand again. She wasn’t sure if Yang understood, but she saw her eyes widen slightly, a delighted smile of her own spreading.

“You really are in love, huh?” Sun asked, smirking a little. “I gotta say, it’s a little gross.”

“It is not!” Ilia replied hotly, jabbing Sun with her elbow. “I think it’s _nice_.”

“You’re right,” Blake said, still not able to tear her eyes away from Yang’s daring smile. “It is.”

Blake and Yang hadn’t planned on staying too long; Blake hadn’t wanted Yang to feel overwhelmed. Both of them were surprised, however, by how easy and natural the conversation flowed. Sun and Ilia were easy to get along with, and Yang laughed easily at their jokes and nodded eagerly as they talked. Aside from a few awkward silences, everything was going so smoothly.

If Blake hadn’t known better, she would never have guessed that Yang had been living in isolation for the past decade.

“So you live in the haunted woods?” Ilia asked, aghast. “You _live_ there?”

“Well, yeah,” Yang said, shrugging. “It’s not really haunted.”

“How can you say that?” Ilia said. Her freckles were white, her eyes wide with fear and awe. “All sorts of things live there. Monsters, pookas--”

“There are no monsters,” Yang replied calmly, stirring more honey into a fresh cup of tea. “I’m pretty sure I would’ve noticed them.”

“Kids disappear there all the time.”

“Do they?” Blake asked curiously. The look Ilia and Sun shot Blake was both exasperated and disbelieving.

“The ones who go into it don’t come back out,” Ilia said, voice low as if she was telling a scary story. Yang, still looking into her cup, only smiled to herself.

“Pookas live in it,” Sun added, frowning. “And the banshee.”

“Yeah!” Ilia said, like that was all the proof she needed. “Crossing her is bad luck, even if the woods _aren’t_ haunted. It’s a bad idea, to live in those woods.”

“I’ve never had any problems with it,” Yang said primly, her bland smile not giving anything away.

“The woods have been nothing but _good_ luck to me,” Blake added, smiling. Her eyes darted to Yang, just long enough to see that Yang was watching her out of the corner of her eye. She decided to be bold. “Don’t be afraid of the banshee, Ilia. If I’ve learned anything these past few months, it’s that there are a lot scarier things in the world than anything you’d find on Cnoc na Bumbóg.”

Ilia didn’t seem to know what to say to this. Her eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise, like she’d never thought about it like that before. She gave Blake a half-smile.

“I… guess that makes sense,” she replied thoughtfully. She wrinkled her nose. “Though, I guess that speaks a lot about Adam that he’s worse than a banshee.”

Under the table, Yang set a hand on Blake’s knee, and Blake was grateful for the support as she nodded. “Yeah.”

There was an awkward pause, where Ilia shot Sun a strange look. Blake frowned, sensing they wanted to say something. He made a face, then nodded slowly at Ilia before turning back to Blake.

“And… speaking of Adam,” he said, almost apologetically. Automatically, Blake’s ears shot up, and he laughed, though it sounded a little nervous. “Oh, nothing like that! We just thought… you should know.”

“Know what?” Blake asked delicately. She felt Yang give her thigh a squeeze for reassurance.

“It’s just… People in town never believed him, you know, about how you went back to Kuo Kuana,” Ilia said slowly. “So everyone’s sort of treating him like… an outcast, or something. And it’s… um…”

“He’s been losing his mind, a little bit,” Sun said. He threw up his hands. “And it’s… probably something you’ll want to watch out for. In case you try to go into town, or anything.”

“What do you mean?” Blake’s brows furrowed. Through her confusion, tendrils of fear began to creep up her body.

“Every time he goes to the tavern,” Ilia explained with a grimace, “he gets drunk and starts ranting. About you.”

Blake clenched her jaw. “Me?”

“No one takes him seriously,” Sun added quickly. “After everything that happened to you… nobody thinks he’s innocent. But he’s not doing well on the farm, and he’s blaming you for it.”

“How could it _possibly_ be my fault?” Despite her fear, a part of her wanted to laugh at the absurdity. Even when he thought she was dead, he could still find a way to pin his problems on her.

“As I said, nobody believes him,” he replied, shaking his head. “But he’s trying to convince everyone that _he’s_ the wronged one. He’s used a lot of colorful words to describe you, by the way.”

“I… see,” Blake said, biting her lip. She felt Yang’s hand on her lower back, and the touch made Blake realize how tense her muscles had become. She tried to relax them, sinking slightly against Yang. “He… doesn’t know I’m alive, right?”

“Well…” Ilia hesitated, and in that hesitation, Blake’s heart dropped. “I don’t think so. The few people we’ve told know to keep the information to themselves… and I don’t _think_ any of them would let it slip…”

Blake groaned, burying her face in her hands.

“I’m _sure_ he doesn’t know!” Sun said confidently. “Think about it! If he did, you know he’d try to question everyone about it. He’s not good at subtlety.”

“Right!” Ilia said, tone brightening. “If he _did_ know you were alive, you could bet he’d be stomping over here to ask if I was keeping you. He’s done it before, when you were still with him. So he can’t know.”

“But what if he does?” Blake asked quietly, looking toward the window. It was a sunny day, and the snow was sparkling and wet. Spring couldn’t be too far away. “What will we do then?”

“He won’t find you.” Yang’s words, so sure and firm that Blake could feel them begin to batter down her insecurities. Or try to, anyway. Still, it was reassuring to have Yang at her side. It made her feel just a little bit braver. “Even if he knew you were alive-- or even where you _live_ \-- he can’t get onto my farm. He physically can’t get to you.”

This much was true, and Blake knew it should’ve been enough to satisfy her. But she couldn’t stop her anxiety from growing, just sinking deeper into her bones with the steady pulse of _what if, what if, what if?_

“Do you think he’ll just… forget?” Blake asked worriedly, staring down into her mug. “That maybe he’ll figure out the town is against him and just… leave?”

It sounded futile to her own ears. Adam had never been the type to let go when he felt slighted. All she could do was pray he wouldn’t find out that she was still alive.

“He’ll leave,” Sun said, his tone so certain and positive that Blake was doubtful of its sincerity. “Nobody likes him here now! He’ll give up. You’ll see.”

Blake looked back up at Yang, whose gaze was so soft. She rubbed Blake’s back gently, and it was just comforting enough that Blake was able to force a smile.

“You’re right,” she made herself say. “He won’t want to stay somewhere he’s hated. He’ll leave.”

But she could see the doubt in Ilia’s eyes, and the concern that was still written across Yang’s face. For all of Sun’s optimism, they both knew better. It made Blake feel a twinge of guilt. She had to be stronger than this.

It was for their sakes that she straightened her back, shrugging away from Yang touch as she took another sip of her tea.

“So!” she said, determinedly changing the subject. “How’s everyone else in town?”

\--

_Blake stood on the ridge again. Her heart was pounding so hard that it hurt, but she didn’t dare take another step back. The ridge was rocky, and one wrong step would topple her over the edge. The wind screamed around her, whipping up her hair, partially obscuring the man before her._

_Adam’s blue eyes were bloodshot, and fixed completely on her._

_“You came into my life and ruined_ everything _,” he snarled, taking a step closer, brandishing a long hunting knife. “So now... I’ll ruin yours.”_

_He turned, and Blake saw Yang on the ground, where she’d fallen to her knees. Adam took a step towards her._

_Blake screamed._

“No!” Blake shot up, eyes going wide as she looked all around her. She was in bed, Yang lying beside her. Her nightshirt was damp with sweat, and there was a painful throb in her heart, as if she’d somehow run up the mountain in her sleep. She clutched it, breathing heavily.

“Blake?” Yang asked with a yawn, rolling over, still stuck in that half-asleep haze. But when she opened her eyes, they focused quickly with concern. She pushed herself up. “M’amhrán, are you okay?”

Blake couldn’t speak; she hardly felt like she could breathe. She gasped a breath in, and without thinking, she frantically shook her head.

“What’s wrong?” Yang asked anxiously, taking Blake’s free hand. Yang turned it over, pressing the pads of her fingers to her pulse. Even in the darkness, Blake could see her frown. But Blake couldn’t even think about her own self-consciousness, or guilt over waking Yang up; terror was squeezing every inch of her body. There was no room for anything else.

“It-- Adam,” Blake managed to choke out. “He was-- he--”

“Shh.” Yang placed a hand to Blake’s neck, and leaned in to press their foreheads together. “Take a deep breath. With me.”

Yang counted, and Blake followed along as close as she could. A count of four to inhale, another count of four to hold it, and another count of four to release. Yang’s steady counting was soothing to listen to, and after a few cycles, Blake was better able to match her breathing. Several cycles more, and she felt her tight muscles begin to loosen, and as they did, she began to shake.

She collapsed against Yang, completely giving over to the trembling. Her heart still ached, but with less urgency. She squeezed her eyes shut as the terror of that nightmare finally seeped out of her exhausted body. She felt Yang’s arms wrap around her comfortingly, holding her close, cupping the back of her head.

“You’re okay,” Yang murmured. “It’s all right.”

“I’m sorry,” Blake whispered into Yang’s shirt. “I’m sorry.”

The apologies came out so quickly, so automatically, that a part of her couldn’t remember what she was even apologizing for. 

“You’re okay,” Yang repeated, her tone somehow even more gentle. “You’re safe.”

“It was… just a dream,” Blake said, as much to reassure herself as to explain herself to Yang. She could feel sobs trying to wrack her body, tears already beginning to trickle out of her eyes. “Just a dream.”

“What happened?” Yang asked, stroking her fingers through Blake’s hair.

“Adam,” Blake said, pulling her face from Yang to quickly wipe her eyes. “It’s always Adam.”

“Always?” Yang asked softly.

“Yeah,” Blake replied, voice hoarse. For a moment, Yang didn’t reply, only continuing to stroke her hair.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she murmured, tightening her grip slightly around Blake’s waist. With a shuddering breath, Blake nestled closer to her. She continued to shiver, but in Yang’s arms, she felt more contained. More _safe_.

“I…” she began, then cut herself off. She’d been trying so hard over the past few weeks, to push thoughts of Adam into the darkest recesses of her mind. She didn’t want to talk about him. She didn’t even want to _think_ about him. She was done with his control.

Yet here he was, sneaking into her dreams. Had she ever had control at all?

“He’s… always there,” Blake found herself saying slowly. “I thought leaving him meant that I was _done_. But sometimes, it still…” She paused, trying to think of the right words. How was she supposed to sum up everything she still felt, the way his shadow still tried to pull her down? She swallowed, and shook her head. “It still _hurts_.”

Blake’s eyes burned, and she pressed her hand over her eyes as the tears spilled from them. Yang held her close, rocking her as Blake’s shakes turned into honest sobs.

“And it… it _shouldn’t_ ,” she managed to say after a minute, the words coming out almost painfully. “He’s not a part of my life anymore! It’s _over_. But when Sun and Ilia told us about him...”

“I get it,” Yang said comfortingly, rubbing her hand along Blake’s back. “It’s okay.”

“It’s like he got into my head,” she whispered. “Like he’s _still_ there.” She shook her head slowly, and pressed it closer to Yang’s chest. “Back… when I still lived with him… He kept saying all of our problems were my fault. He held onto every mistake I made, twisted everything I did… He even convinced _me_ that it was. That I was bad luck. That I brought the disease…”

“You know you didn’t,” Yang replied. Her quiet tone was rich and low, full of the soothing resonance that Blake had come to associate with a banshee’s voice. “The blight was never your fault.”

“I-- I know,” Blake breathed, relieved that the pain in her heart was little more than a dull throb. “He wanted to make me feel small. He was just… looking for someone to blame.”

“A scapegoat.”

“Yeah.” Blake closed her eyes. “I try so hard not to think about it all. I want to _forget_. Everything he said, and did… I keep telling myself that none of it was my fault. And usually, I can believe it. But sometimes… it’s like I forget, and it all comes back so fast, and so hard. Like I’ll open my eyes, and it’ll be him there, instead of you.”

“Shhh.” Yang brought a hand around to Blake’s cheek, running a thumb across the stains on her cheeks, brushing away an errant tear, and Blake finally looked up at her. “It’ll never be him. It’ll be me here with you. Always.”

She slid her fingers along Blake’s face, and they slid into the hair at her temples. Blake closed her eyes.

“You don’t need to carry this alone, Blake,” she added softly. “You can tell me when everything is too much, or when you have bad dreams. I want to be there for you when it hurts, and when you’re scared. You’ve been through so much on your own as it is. Even if all you want is to be held, or listened to… please, let me.”

Blake closed her eyes, and felt the way all of her fears stacked up against her careful wall. But even her wall had its cracks, and everything she’d tried to hide kept leaking out, no matter how often she tried to plug the holes. It was what made her jump at the odd snapping of a twig, and filled her with the casual dread of being noticed by passersby. It was what was giving her these nightmares, over and over and over again. 

In trying to protect herself, to hide herself from her memories and feelings, it was like she’d tightened her grip on her own pain and mistaken it for control. She opened her eyes, and even in the dimness, she saw the clear concern and love in Yang’s eyes.

Maybe, in acknowledging it all, she could start to let go.

She reached for Yang’s hand, and gave a slow nod. “Okay,” she whispered.

There was really no easy way, Blake found, to talk about it all. She started at the beginning, haltingly. She told Yang of life in the city, and how she longed for something less busy, and more peaceful. How she’d met Adam, how he’d tempted her with everything she wanted, a parcel of land far away from Kuo Kuana, where she could live that quiet life. He’d wooed her, then won her. She’d been so naive, so quick to relinquish control of herself for the sake of his hazy dream. It made her feel almost sick, admitting it to Yang, but Yang only held her tighter.

She never judged; she only continued to stroke Blake’s hair, to kiss her, to rub her back. 

It got easier, the more she spoke. Of coming to White Fang, of how quickly Adam’s facade began to slip. The way he took it for granted that she would stay with him, his manipulation, his abuse. More than once, she felt Yang’s muscles go rigid with anger, though whenever Blake’s voice faltered, or tears began to leak again, those muscles softened just as quickly in order to hold her closer. 

Blake didn’t know how long she spoke, but by the time she recounted her last fight with Adam, her voice was hoarse.

“...and he wouldn’t even let me grab my boots before throwing me out,” Blake said, resting her head on Yang’s shoulder. They were fully enmeshed at that point, legs tangled, heads on the pillow and arms around each other, and Blake didn’t think they could physically _be_ any closer. She let out a humorless, empty chuckle that grated her throat. “That’s why I was barefoot when you found me. I was just in my slippers, but my feet were so numb that I didn’t even feel it when I lost them.”

“ _Slippers_ ,” Yang repeated, like she still couldn’t believe it, even though she’d healed Blake’s feet herself. “I still can hardly believe that he kicked you out in _slippers_.”

“He probably thought I wouldn’t go too far,” Blake mumbled, burying her face in the crook of Yang’s neck. “Maybe not even leave the front step. Maybe the sheep shed, if I was bold.”

“He underestimated you,” Yang replied, and Blake felt a kiss on the top of her head.

“Underestimated what an idiot I am, maybe,” Blake said with a rueful smile. “I shouldn’t have survived. Going into the woods, in a snowstorm, bleeding, in _slippers_ … that should have killed me. But at that point… I would’ve rather died looking for you, than live another _second_ under his roof.”

“Oh, baby,” Yang said softly.

“All I wanted was to get deep enough into the woods that you’d be able to find me.”

“But you found me first.”

“Yeah.” Blake closed her eyes. They felt swollen and sticky from crying. “I did.”

“I’m glad,” Yang added, her voice still low, the vibrations of her words reverberating through Blake’s body. “That you found me that night. And… that I found you, that day we met.”

“Me too,” Blake whispered. “Gods, me too.”

Silence descended between them for a moment, giving them both the time to reflect, and for Blake to recover. She felt doubly exhausted than she had when she’d first gone to sleep that night, and it wasn’t just her throat that felt raw. She felt so exposed, so naked, like she’d pulled open the seams she’d tried so hard to keep closed. It was an unparalleled kind of helplessness, but despite it, her soul still felt safe.

Her soul was always safe with Yang.

“I’m… sorry I talked so much,” Blake said guiltily, shifting a little. “It was a lot, and it probably could’ve waited till tomorrow, but--”

“Don’t apologize. Please.” Yang’s fingers trailed up Blake’s spine. She looked down, and Blake couldn’t stop herself from looking back up, to meet her eyes in the dark. She cupped Blake’s cheek. “ _Thank you_ , for telling me. It… couldn’t have been easy, to tell me this.”

Blake’s face burned, her ears twitching slightly as her eyes looked down.

“I knew you were strong before,” Yang went on, brushing her cheek with her fingertips. “But I didn’t realize just how strong you really are.”

“I’m not strong.”

“Maybe you don’t feel it,” Yang replied, her gaze fixed on Blake. Blake looked back into her eyes, drawn to them. “But I do. And I see it. And I _know_ it. You’re strong, m’amhrán. And brave. And _free_.”

Blake had thought she was all cried out, but at Yang’s words, she shuddered again, feeling tears rolling down her cheeks again. But these weren’t tears of anguish, like every tear had been since moving to White Fang. She couldn’t quite identify what these tears were for-- hope? gratitude? relief?-- but whatever it was… she felt at _peace_.

Yang kissed her softly, tenderly, against her lips, at the corner of her mouth, along her jaw. Blake closed her eyes again, sinking into her, feeling the wave of exhaustion wash over her. She yawned.

“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep now?” Yang asked, smiling slightly.

“I-- I think so,” Blake replied, nestling close to Yang, their head sharing a pillow. She knew better than to think that talking to Yang would cure her of her nightmares, or even put a dent in all the trauma she’d endured, but she could hope that it would help, at least a little bit.

“If you have more nightmares… you can wake me up, okay?” Yang combed her fingers through Blake’s hair. “Really. Don’t feel bad about it. I’d rather be able to help you, than letting you deal with it on your own.”

“Okay,” Blake said, “but…” 

She hesitated. There was one more lingering shadow on her mind, and a part of her wanted to immediately hide it away again, to hide it beneath the rubble of the wall she’d knocked down. But she was going to be more open with Yang, she reminded herself. She wouldn’t hide it.

“What’s wrong?” Yang asked, brows furrowing.

“The nightmare I had tonight…” Blake paused, trying to remain detached from her own words. “It just… felt a little _too_ real. Like it might’ve been…”

She let the sentence trail off, and she watched as Yang’s eyes widened with realization.

“Are you sure?” Yang asked, and Blake wondered if Yang was feeling the same sinking in her stomach that Blake did. Blake bit her lip.

“I’m… not positive,” she said, convincing herself there was enough room for deniability in those words, even when her heart felt certain. She made herself shake her head. “It’s probably nothing.”

“If you had a vision with Adam in it--”

“It was on the ridge,” Blake went on. She let out a sound that was supposed to be a chuckle, but it sounded more like a cough. “Which… it’s stupid. He would never go to the ridge.”

“On the ridge?” Yang looked confused, and Blake let herself relax a little more. She was being foolish.

“Never mind,” she mumbled, shaking her head, feeling the pillow against her cheek. “I’m just overreacting.”

“Are you sure?” Yang asked, still looking worried while she continued to stroke Blake’s hair.

Blake didn’t let herself remember the scene, with Yang on the ground and Adam brandishing a knife. There was nothing realistic about it, she told herself.

He’d never be on the ridge.

“Yeah,” Blake said, closing her mind to it. “I’m sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you have made more gorgeous art since the last update!! Salsie made this [ BEAUTIFUL one on of the bees on the ridge](https://salsie.tumblr.com/post/626459530985897984/). My sister sunnyteea made [Raven, which I'm still crying over](https://sunnyteea.tumblr.com/post/626036099853221888/it-was-a-beautiful-song-raven-said-little-more#_=_). Wary-taru did a whole BUNCH that are GORGEOUS... [Blake](https://wary-taru.tumblr.com/post/626372098309406720/), [Blake with her bandaged hand](https://wary-taru.tumblr.com/post/626922745541853184/), ["you make me want to sing"](https://wary-taru.tumblr.com/post/626946965275607040/), [a soft hug](https://wary-taru.tumblr.com/post/627079762226151424/), and [sharing Yang's cloak!](https://wary-taru.tumblr.com/post/627268526873493504/) I absolutely love all of this art. Thank you for making me EMO!!
> 
> The last update will be the last (it'll include an epilogue), unless something goes horribly wrong, that'll be the end of this fic!! I'm still multitasking with my big bang project, so it might be another bit of a wait... I'm TERRIBLE at multitasking! but thank you for your patience!!
> 
> ALSO, funny story... I was trying to get back into the mood of this fic, so I was watching the the music video that inspired the fic in the first place (["Banshee"](https://youtu.be/MPauKZ4hN6M)). It has Irish and English subtitles, and I was watching with the Irish ones... they actually used the phrase "mo shíor ghrá" in the song and I was shooketh. Anyway, go listen to it if you haven't already!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: some violence

“And this is where the potatoes will go this year,” Yang said confidently, gesturing to a decent-sized plot. The area she indicated was much smaller than Adam’s potato fields, but then again, Yang only grew enough for herself. She didn’t have to worry about taking potatoes to market or earning a profit; all she had to grow was what she needed.

“Okay,” Blake said, nodding, trying to picture what it might look like when it was full of plants.

Right now, the ground only looked muddy and messy. The snow was melting, and starting to reveal the dormant ground underneath. But at least it was giving Blake a better idea of Yang’s fields, and what their spring might look like.

Even though they hadn’t planted anything yet, and the grass beneath the snow was still yellow and dead, Yang’s farm felt more alive than Adam’s ever had been.

“And no blight?” Blake asked curiously. Yang grinned.

“None.”

“How do you know?”

Yang crouched down at the edge of the field, and Blake followed suit. “Use your magic,” she said. “It doesn’t take much. Getting a feel for the soil is pretty easy, and it’s something that even regular people are capable of at times. Green thumbs, you know?”

“Really?” Blake asked, surprised, and Yang nodded.

“Yeah. It’s a more natural kind of magic-- sort of like druidry-- so it’s pretty easy to tap into,” she explained.

“So how do I do it?”

“Just sort of… _feel_ the soil. With all your senses. With your _magic_.” Yang set a hand on Blake’s back, and Blake closed her eyes. She reached a hand into the soil.

She projected her magic downward, like she was pushing a little part of her herself into the dirt. It made it easier to _feel_ the earth around her, every little grain of soil a part of her, as much as her skin or blood was. She exhaled, and it almost felt like she was sinking into the ground.

“It feels…” she said slowly, thinking. It was hard to put words to it; there simply wasn’t any vocabulary she could use to describe it. “It feels… _rich_. Like… there’s so _much_ in it.”

“And?”

“And it’s…” Blake’s eyes fluttered open, stunned. “It’s so _clean_.”

“Exactly,” Yang said, nodding. “Everything that’s in this soil… it’s _good_. Full of potential for growth. _Energy_.”

“No blight,” Blake murmured, pulling her hand out of the cold dirt and wiping it on her skirts. They rose as one, Yang’s hand never leaving Blake’s back. 

“No blight,” Yang agreed, smiling down at her. “Back when you first said you thought you were cursed… I felt you out, just like that. Your shoes, anyway, since that was what you were preoccupied with.”

“You can do it with shoes?”

“The dirt on your shoes, if you want to be technical,” Yang admitted sheepishly. “But it was more feeling the places they’d stepped. I would’ve been able to tell if they left any blight behind.”

“Wait, really?” Blake’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You could feel blight in my _footsteps_?”

“I could, if there had been any to begin with,” Yang replied, eyes twinkling. “But there was never any blight in them. You weren’t the one who made this land sick, m’amhrán. It was sick before you even arrived here. The blight was never your fault.”

Blake leaned against her, resting her head on Yang’s shoulder. Through all of Yang’s assurances that Blake wasn’t a curse, it had still been difficult to believe; Adam’s cruel jibes had weathered away at her, to a point where she took the entirety of the blame upon herself. But now she had _proof_. This land wasn’t diseased.

And neither was she.

“When Ruby and Weiss visit again,” Yang said quietly, dragging her fingers in circles around Blake’s back, “they’ll teach us how to bless the land for spring. It’ll clear out any disease, and increases the land’s fertility, and--”

Yang cut off abruptly, her hand falling away. Blake frowned, looking back up at her, but confusion quickly shifted to alarm.

Yang’s whole expression had slackened, eyes glazing. She stared off into the trees dumbly, and Blake followed the gaze. She saw nothing.

“Yang?” she asked uncertainly, tugging at her sleeve. Yang didn’t respond. She only continued to stare at empty space. “Baby?”

Blake looked back and forth from Yang to the trees again, fear striking. Was she ill? Had something happened? She pressed a hand to Yang’s cheek.

“Yang? Are you okay?”

Finally, Yang blinked. She seemed a little dazed as she jerked her head back to Blake, blinking quickly. “Huh?”

“Okay,” Blake said, shoulders slumping with relief. “You’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Yang replied, a touch distantly. She gave Blake a lopsided smile. “Sorry if that scared you.”

“What happened?” she asked. Yang’s eyes unfocused again. Hand still on her cheek, Blake gently tilted Yang’s head to face hers. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Yang’s voice sounded almost dreamy as she spoke, and it looked like it took her great effort to keep her eyes trained on Blake’s. “I can feel it.”

“Feel what?” Blake asked, confused.

“The song.” Yang closed her eyes, then added in a murmur, “I need to sing soon.”

“You need to sing?” Blake’s eyes widened and she jolted to attention. In day-to-day life, it was easy to forget completely about Yang’s gift of foretelling death. Since moving to here, Blake hadn’t even heard her truly sing. But here was that reminder, set directly in front of her; this was a banshee, awakening. “Now?”

“Not now,” Yang said slowly. “But… soon. I can feel it on the wind. It isn’t strong… yet. But I need to prepare. I need to--”

She frowned, looking confused. She swayed on her feet, like she was dizzy. Blake gripped her arm to steady her.

“Are you okay?”

“It’s gone,” Yang said, frown deepening. She closed her eyes, and pressed a hand to her temple. “That’s… strange.”

“ _What’s_ gone?”

“There was a song,” Yang murmured, brows still furrowed as she shook her head. “But it… it just disappeared. So quickly.”

“It disappeared?”

“Yeah.” Yang inhaled, then slowly blew the breath out. “It happens sometimes. When there’s a... point of decision, or something that’s _almost_ certain, that ends up changing. But… it’s odd, is all.”

“Oh,” Blake said. She probably should’ve been relieved, that someone out in the valley got a reprieve from death, but Yang was so _pale_. Blake slid an arm around her waist. “Want to go back in? We can talk crops when the snows melt a little more.”

“That’s… probably a good idea,” Yang agreed, nodding, leaning her weight a little more on Blake. “Not much we can do now, anyway.”

At least Yang seemed to recover quickly; by the time they were inside, her momentary weakness had passed. As if to compensate for it, she took charge with making lunch, a determined pep in her step while she busied herself in the kitchen.

“What do you usually do, anyway?” Blake asked, joining her there. “When you feel the song?”

“I prepare,” Yang replied cheerfully. She jutted a thumb up toward the shelves where she kept her dried herbs and powders. “I make a sort of tincture, to drink after a song. That sort of speeds up my healing process-- even though I won’t ever lose my voice, singing for so long _does_ make my throat sore for a bit. So the tincture helps! I should probably teach you how to make it, too, actually. Now that you can use magic.”

“I’d love to help however I can,” Blake said with an earnest smile. Yang returned it, eyes softening.

“It’ll be nice, for a little help,” she admitted. “I can be a little… off, when the song starts getting strong. But the tincture doesn’t keep for long, so I can’t make it too far in advance. And--”

She cut off again, eyes drifting once more. She stared at the wall, unblinking. Blake frowned, but stayed with her, a hand going to her back.

This time, Yang didn’t come out of it right away. She turned her head slowly, looking over Blake’s shoulder instead of directly into her eyes. It was like a _trance_ , Blake thought. Maybe that was what all songs were in the end. Yang was under a spell, being pulled deeper and deeper.

“Sorry,” Yang mumbled, shaking her head a little, like she was trying to wake herself up. “I… need to sit down for a moment.”

“It’s okay,” Blake said quickly, taking her by the arm. “What happened?”

“This is how songs are born,” Yang explained, her voice slow and halting. “They come to me, and I have to listen. And prepare.”

Blake helped guide Yang into the rocking chair. Gracelessly, Yang flopped back into it, closing her eyes.

“It’s like…” Yang began, then stopped. “It’s in my head. It _fills_ my head. And it makes it so, so hard to think about anything _but_ the song. It…” She broke off again, saying nothing for another few seconds before finally adding, “... _consumes_ me.” She grimaced. “I need to make that tincture.”

“Right now?”

“Soon.” Yang opened her eyes again, smiling faintly. “The more the song builds up, it’ll get harder for me to focus on doing _anything_ other than the song. It’s like… I become so single-minded. Like an animal. And all I can do… is sing.”

“You’re not an animal,” Blake said firmly. She ran her fingers through Yang’s hair, combing through it, caressing it in an attempt at comfort. “But if you teach me how to make that tincture, I’ll be able to help you better next time. Mo shíorghrá. I _want_ to help you.”

“You already are,” Yang murmured, dazed lilac eyes finally meeting Blake’s. “Just in being near.”

For a few minutes, they didn’t move. Yang’s gaze inevitably drifted, finding and settling on the fire. She said nothing as she stared into it, and didn’t seem to notice the way Blake continued to stroke her hair. Yang was in her own world now, listening to music Blake couldn’t hear.

She would soon, though, Blake thought with a chill. She would hear it, when Yang would start to sing.

A part of her did feel a twinge of worry; Yang’s song would probably mean death for someone in the village. Maybe even someone she knew. Theoretically, it could even be her own death that Yang was predicting, but Blake couldn’t even dredge up the worry for that possibility. For some reason, she wasn’t afraid. No; she would never be afraid of Yang, or of any songs she might sing, even if it was intended for her.

“Okay,” Yang said at last, pulling herself out of the rocking chair. She still looked a little lost, but she was steady enough on her feet when she took Blake’s arm. “I think I can show you now. How to make it.”

Even though Yang had made this tincture on her own countless times before, Blake still felt like she had to supervise a little as Yang gathered up her ingredients and supplies. She worried that one wrong lapse of concentration might have her dropping the tiny glass vial, or spilling liquid, but for all of Yang’s distraction, she was still quite capable.

It was only after they’d finished, after Yang tucked the small vial into her satchel and set it on a hook by the door, that weakness came over her again. Yang gasped, sinking against the door and pressing a hand to her head. Blake was over in an instant, managing to catch her before Yang fell completely to her knees.

“It’s _gone_!” Yang reached a hand out, like she was trying to feel the air in front of her, like she was looking for any trace of the song. Her eyes were round, her face pale, utterly bewildered.

“What?”

“The song. It’s… gone again.” She grimaced, leaning all her weight against Blake. Then, quietly, to herself, “Why is it gone?”

“Has this ever happened before?” Blake asked, concerned. She didn’t like whiteness in Yang’s cheeks. Blake led her back toward the bedroom, and it spoke volumes that Yang didn’t even bring herself to argue being led.

“No,” Yang said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Blake sat beside her, letting Yang fall against her. “It’s not supposed to work like that. The songs are supposed to _build_ , not just cut in and out like that.”

“That’s so strange,” Blake said, frowning as she wrapped her arm around her. “What does it mean when that happens?”

“Honestly?” Yang replied wearily. She sighed, and rested her head against Blake’s chest. “I have no idea.”

\--

It kept happening.

Sometimes it was only a matter of minutes between flickers of song, other times it was hours. While the feeling of song in the air didn’t affect Blake directly, seeing Yang so unsettled and exhausted made her worry by extension. According to Yang, each wave hit harder than the last, making it worse every time it pulled back. This constant ebb and flow of song even began to make Yang _physically_ ill, riddling her with headaches and dizziness. By the morning of the second day, she couldn’t even bring herself to leave bed.

“This isn’t right,” Yang kept saying, shaking her head. “I don’t know if this is a problem with the valley, or with _me_ …”

“Hush,” Blake murmured, kissing her, hoping it would help calm her down. “Nothing’s wrong with you.”

“But this isn’t _right_ ,” Yang repeated. “It’s like… the song _wants_ to be sung, but it’s… resisting.”

“It’ll go away on its own,” Blake said encouragingly, though she wasn’t sure if she believed her own words. “Or else it’ll _have_ to be sung. Won’t it?”

“I just wish I knew what it meant,” Yang replied, rubbing her eyes. Her headaches were getting worse and worse each time she felt the song fade, and Blake only wished there was something more she could do. “Gods, songs are supposed to be more certain than this.”

Blake nodded, but didn’t know what else she could say. They’d already written to Ruby, hoping she might know of something, or even somehow ask Raven about it. But at best, it would be a couple days before they heard anything. Until then, they were on their own.

“I hope everyone won’t think I’m rude, for skipping today,” Yang said, wincing as she lay back down. Blake set a reassuring hand on Yang’s shoulder. They were supposed to have their weekly visit to Ilia’s that day, and it was going to be the first time some of their other friends would meet Yang. But at this rate, Yang wouldn’t even be able to leave the cottage.

“When you’re better, we’ll go next week. We’ll come up with a story for her,” Blake replied. She forced a smile. “They’ll understand.”

“You can still go, though,” Yang said, brushing a hand along Blake’s temple and into her hair. “Just because _I_ can’t go doesn’t mean you can’t.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“I can handle myself for a few hours,” Yang said, weak amusement in her voice. “I’ve dealt with much worse on my own. I’m tough.”

“What if you get up and… fall, or something?” Blake asked, trying to keep her tone light. She didn’t like the idea of leaving Yang alone, especially for something as insignificant as a social call. “What if I come back and you’re like… on the floor?”

“I won’t get up unless it’s an emergency,” Yang said, smiling. “Promise.”

Blake sighed, letting her thumb continue to brush Yang’s shoulder. “You’ve always been there when I needed it. I want to be here for you.”

“And there isn’t really much either of us can do, with me like this,” Yang replied dismissively, still faintly amused. “And you’ve been with me since this all started. You deserve a break.” She paused, her smile growing. “Besides, I need you to defend my reputation. You can just tell Ilia and everyone that I’m sick. It’s an easy excuse.”

Blake bit her lip. She knew they’d worry if she didn’t show up. It was more, too, than just thinking Yang or Blake were being rude; they wouldn’t trust mysterious absences after everything that had happened with Adam. If she didn’t go to visit with them after promising she would, they’d probably fear that something had happened to her. She hesitated.

“Go on,” Yang urged, a little more firmness in her tone. “Don’t let me hold you back. I’ll probably just try to nap the whole time, anyway.”

“I won’t stay long,” Blake finally said, conceding. She held up a finger. “But don’t get up any more than you need to, okay?”

“Yes, m’amhrán,” Yang said, chuckling. “I’ll be good.”

Blake huffed, then finally stood. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Yang raised her hands in surrender, and Blake took hold of one, bringing it to her mouth and kissing Yang’s fingertips. Yang’s smile widened, and pulled Blake in for a real kiss before sinking back into the pillows.

She was already dozing by the time Blake had pulled her cloak and key on, which reassured her. With any luck, she wouldn’t even wake up at all before Blake got back. Maybe the song wouldn’t return at all, and Yang’s nap could turn into real rest.

These days, she could afford to be a little optimistic.

\--

The walk to Ilia’s was always long, and without Yang, it felt even longer. It reminded Blake of those long, solitary walks she’d taken months before, when she hunted mushrooms in the forest. This walk, at least, lacked the unhappiness of those days. Even though she still worried for Yang, she could honestly say that she felt good as she walked down Cnoc na Bumbóg.

When she judged herself to be halfway to Ilia’s, Blake came to a stop. She closed her eyes, feeling for her connection to Yang. It was still bright, and strong. Even Yang’s sickness couldn’t detract from its steadiness, and it was reassuring to feel that tether. In it, she could feel her natural desire to follow, and return home to Yang.

Instead, she opened her eyes again. As tempting as it was, she couldn’t go home yet. With a sigh, she continued her trek away from home, away from Yang, and onward toward Ilia’s house. 

With the melting snow, her house looked less like a picturesque gingerbread house and more like a sodden box. But it was a good thing; it was a sign of spring, as sure as the chirping of birds, or the smell of damp earth, or the animals beginning to emerge from their burrows. Back in the woods, there was a loud crack of a branch, and though Blake was getting better about loud, unexplained noises, she still winced before she knocked at the door, looking over her shoulder nervously.

Being out in the open never felt right, especially without Yang.

“Aw, no Yang today?” Ilia asked, welcoming Blake in.

“She hasn’t been feeling that well today,” Blake explained, grimacing.

“Can’t you just use her magic to heal her?” Coco asked with a droll smile. She still wasn’t convinced that magic was real, which Blake figured was understandable. Velvet jabbed her elbow into Coco’s side.

“Be _nice_!”

“Sorry, Blake,” Coco said apologetically, patting Velvet’s leg. “I’m sorry to hear she’s sick.”

“We were looking forward to meeting her,” Velvet added. “But there’s always next time. And just seeing you is good enough for us!”

“Thanks,” Blake said, scratching her head sheepishly, ears flattening with embarrassment. She’d never been particularly close with Coco or Velvet during her Adam days, but they’d always been genuinely kind to her. It touched her, how relieved they’d been that she was still alive, and how willing they were to be real friends to her.

It _had_ been something she’d worried about at first. Especially during her last months with Adam, he’d done his best to keep her isolated from people. The fact that anyone was still willing to befriend her, an outsider, filled Blake with such gratitude. Blake wasn’t a pariah. She wasn’t cursed.

She was _welcomed_.

“I think I’ll be learning a little more magic this spring, though,” Blake said after she’d taken a seat, holding a mug of hot tea. “Yang’s sister is coming to visit, and she’s really good at it, so she’s giving us lessons.”

“She’s the _real_ witch, right?” Sun asked, sounding a bit pleased to have remembered this detail. Blake nodded. Then, at a sudden thought, her ears perked up.

“I… think she’ll be able to teach us how to fix everyone’s farmland, actually,” Blake said, thinking about how clean Yang’s soil felt. She had a feeling Ilia’s land wouldn’t feel that way; though potatoes hadn’t been her livelihood, she’d still been hit hard by blight. “I don’t know how to do it myself yet, but Yang talked about something called _blessing the land_. She told me it can cure blight.”

“Wait, are you serious?” Ilia asked with disbelief. “She can _cure_ blight?”

“I think so,” Blake went on excitedly. “So once Ruby comes, and teaches us how to do it…”

“Then we could have a very different harvest next year,” Velvet said, her brown eyes wide.

“If I can learn how to do it, I’ll try to do that to all the land I can. To everyone’s farms,” Blake promised, looking from Ilia, to Sun, to Coco and Velvet. “Maybe I can change things for the better around here.”

It was that promise that hung in her mind when she left Ilia’s house an hour later, feeling so much _hope_ at the notion. She turned away from the house, giving everyone a jaunty wave as they closed the door. 

If she and Yang could fix the land in White Fang, she thought, making her way along Ilia’s fields, that would go a long way towards making magic be seen in a favorable light. It could secure Yang’s acceptance in the community, and maybe help people overcome their superstitions. Besides… she _wanted_ to help. She’d been so caught up in her own curse, and her own bad luck, that she never stopped to consider that she could actually do some _good_ for the valley.

Smiling, Blake crouched down on the edge of Ilia’s field. She hesitated, then got down on her knees. The ground was cold and wet, and would likely stain her skirt, but it didn’t discourage Blake from reaching a hand into the dirt. She closed her eyes, reaching outward with her magic.

It wasn’t like Yang’s soil at all. Ilia’s felt… _wrong_ , in the way that unripe fruit was sour, or the way wine degraded into vinegar. Blake furrowed her brows, trying to feel deeper into the earth. _This_ was what blight felt like, she realized. It ran deep, feeling like messy, jumbled knots of wrongness, veins of pure disease.

She withdrew her hand, thinking. She wished she knew what blessing the land entailed, so that she could try it herself. Experimentally, she gave a _push_ with her magic. To her surprise, she felt the blight _give_ beneath the pressure. It wasn’t much, and it was too entangled in the soil to do make much difference… but she had a feeling that if she knew what she was doing, she might’ve been able to do _something_.

Blake got back up, deep in thought, trying to piece together in her mind how blessing the land might work. Was it a matter of sucking the blight out? Was it a matter of trying to disperse it enough through the ground that it would become diluted to do any damage?

Before she released her hold of that magical connection, she reached out with it, feeling toward Yang… and then she frowned.

Usually, her anchor to Yang was heavy, and tight, and singular. Now, it diverged-- there was her connection to Yang, strong and bright and full of life. But there was something else, too, in a different direction from Yang.

Blake stood stupidly for a second, trying to work out what this second connection was. It _felt_ familiar, and she could almost feel Yang’s essence in that connection, too. Confused, Blake reached outward toward Yang, taking a step deeper into the trees, before it dawned on her what it meant.

Yang had said that she could walk through the forest quickly, from place to place, as long as she had a strong enough connection to it. No matter where she was in the forest, Yang could always find Blake. So, too, could she always find her own house, and the ridge. And now, that’s exactly what Blake was doing. This weaker thread of connection would lead to Yang’s house, she marvelled, _sensing_ the energy of the place. At the same time as her own amazement, however, Blake always felt a stab of fear. If Blake was feeling distinct connections to both Yang and her house... that meant Yang wasn’t home.

Where _was_ Yang?

Nearby, a branch cracked. Blake had been so absorbed in her own thoughts that she hadn’t even noticed the muffled sounds of crunching snow. Ears immediately shooting up, she spun, looking around.

“Is someone there?” she asked, fear shooting down her body.

Silence.

Feeling uneasy, Blake began to walk on, a little more quickly. Should she go straight for Yang? Or should she go home first? She had no idea where Yang would have gone-- she had said she’d stay in bed, hadn’t she? Or maybe the weaker connection _wasn’t_ their house. Was she mistaken? If she was, then what--?

Out of nowhere, something swung at the back of Blake’s head, large and heavy. She screamed, falling to the ground, clutching at her head. Footsteps. Groaning, clutching her head, she rolled onto her back.

“So you _are_ alive.”

Blake’s blood ran cold.

“Adam,” she whispered, eyes widening. 

He stood over her, a long branch in his hand. He dropped it into the snow, too close to her head, and she winced as it clipped her. He was dressed in drab browns and greens, like he’d been camouflaging himself in the woods. Like he’d _planned_ on hiding, and waiting for her; the thought made Blake shudder. He crouched beside her.

“Where are you going, my love?” he asked. Once upon a time, he might have tried to disguise the coldness in his voice. Not anymore.

It was like time had come to a screeching halt. Blake’s heart pounded, her ears roared; what was she supposed to do? She couldn’t move, she could barely breathe.

Was this just a nightmare?

“When I heard the rumor that you were alive…” he said softly, “I thought the villagers were fucking with me. That it was all just a cruel joke. But I _knew_ , that if it was true, you’d visit that Amitola girl eventually. And you did.” He reached out a finger, and in the moment it hung in the air over her face, it trembled. He reached for Blake’s cheek, and she flinched as he stroked it. “How could you do this to me, Blake?”

“I--” she began, but he didn’t give her a chance to speak. He slapped her, so hard that Blake bit her tongue, and she tasted the coppery twang of blood.

“And you’ve made me look like a _fool_ ,” he spat. She tried to sit up, but he shoved a hand into her throat, pinning her down. She gasped instinctively at the pressure on her neck, but the sound came out like a gurgle. “I gave you everything you wanted, and _this_ is how you repay me?”

“Adam,” she croaked.

“ _Everything_ ,” he repeated. He released her throat to seize her shoulders, to pull her up just enough to slam her head back down. Her jaw snapped shut, and it felt like her brain rattled. When she opened her eyes, she saw a feral gleam in his eye. 

He was finding _satisfaction_ in doing this to her, and that terrified her more than his anger.

“You never should have left, Blake.” A hand wrapped around one side of her throat. “They thought I killed you. You know that? They searched my _house_ , looking for you. They searched my _land_.”

He brought his other hand up, and pressed his thumbs into her throat experimentally. Her eyes rounded, desperately trying to think of a plan. Could she use her magic somehow to get away from him?

Adam tightened his grip, squeezing, and Blake’s thoughts ground to a halt as she tried to choke in an inhale. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think. All she could focus on were Adam’s blue eyes, and the way they bored into her, watching with a sick sort of pleasure. She struggled, limbs spasming, but she couldn’t fight without air.

He was going to kill her here.

But then he let go, and Blake sucked in a breath. Her eyes watered, and she began to cough, desperately trying to fill her lungs with air again. But he didn’t give her a chance to recover. He grabbed her by the collar with both hands, yanking her to her feet.

“You had everyone thinking I’d _killed_ you,” he hissed, his breath hot on her face. She smelled whiskey on it; maybe he’d been drinking it to keep himself warm while he waited for her in Ilia’s house. “And then you come back to spread _lies_ about me. You should see the way they _look_ at me, Blake.”

“You _did_ try to kill me,” she said lowly, eyes scanning the trees, hoping that she could find something, anything, to help her. “You almost--”

She froze, realizing his fingers had found her necklace. He frowned, wrapping his fingers around the cord, and she could only watch in horror as he gave it a jerk, ripping it off her neck. He studied it, keeping his other hand tightly wound into Blake’s collar.

“This is the key to the witch’s house, isn’t it?” he asked, twirling it between his fingers, his hideous fingerprints rubbing all over it. “That’s what I heard in town. That you’ve moved in with a _witch_.”

Blake drew in a shuddering breath, but didn’t know what to say. Her brain kept screaming at her to pull away, run, but she couldn’t even think of a plan. She didn’t even know how to respond to his question.

“ _Answer_ me,” he snarled, shaking her a little. Blake’s head jarred with the movement, and she clenched her teeth. But through it, she heard a little voice in her head. Maybe it was magic, or maybe it was just her own thoughts, but it was loud and clear.

_No_.

She wouldn’t follow his orders. She hadn’t in months, and she never would again. And somehow, this brief moment of clarity was all she needed to snap her out of it.

“Let _go_!” she yelled, then gave him a shove with everything she had. It seemed to catch him off-guard, enough that the shove managed to loosen his grip on her. She whirled around and started to run.

She didn’t get far. He managed to lunge forward, reaching for her cloak and jerking back on it hard. She yelped, toppling backwards and bowling into him. It knocked both of them off their feet, but Blake managed to roll, pulling herself up onto her hands and knees. A tug on her cloak meant that he still had a hold of it, so she wasted no time. She ripped open its clasp, leaped to her feet, and bolted, letting the cloak fall away behind her.

At first, Blake didn’t know where to run to. There was Yang’s house, but she wouldn’t be able to even find it without the key. She could still feel her connection to the farm, but it would be useless if she couldn’t get onto the land at all. Besides, if Adam noticed what direction she ran in, he may very well go in that direction himself. In her panic, all she could think about was the possibility that he’d eventually find the house. He’d managed to figure out she visited with Ilia, hadn’t he? She wouldn’t put it past him to eventually find his way to Yang’s, and with the key… what then?

No. She had to follow Yang’s connection. As she ran, she took a deep breath and focused on it.

A weight slammed into her back. In her panic, she _shoved_ herself in Yang’s direction.

The trees seemed to ripple around her; usually, when she walked in the forest with Yang, the trees accommodated them to make the walk feel seamless. It helped the world feel natural, even when they were walking at an inhuman pace through the forest. This time, Blake supposed she’d moved too fast for the trees to grant that illusion. She felt dizzy and sick as the world changed before her eyes.

Even though Adam’s weight crushed her into the ground, all Blake could think about were the _trees_. It was obvious now that these trees weren’t the same trees as the ones by Ilia’s house. The trees here grew thinner, at different angles to match the steep slope of the ground. She felt Adam roll off of her, and heard the sound of retching; the vertigo of the experience must have been too much for him.

Blake’s vision swam as she got to her feet, but she didn’t throw up. She swayed, finally managing to place where she was. Wonder changed abruptly to horror.

Beyond those trees… was the ridge.

Her nightmare came crashing down around her, and she felt _certainty_ , as clear as a recent memory. This was a vision, about to be fulfilled.

It was coming to life, before her very eyes.

Blake didn’t feel like she could run, but somehow she did, stumbling through the last trees to get away from Adam, knowing she _had_ to find Yang, to warn her. She tripped as she made her way down the small descent of rock, scraping her chin before pulling herself up.

“Blake?”

Yang’s voice sounded slow and distant, but just hearing it was a relief to Blake’s ears. Yang stood at the ridge’s edge, wrapped in her black cloak, the hood drawn over her head. She didn’t look well, with dark circles under her eyes, which gave a haunted cast to her face. There was an odd thrum of magical energy in the air around her, and it dawned on Blake that _this_ was the true banshee of Cnoc na Bumbóg, the mysterious Lady of the Ridge that the townsfolk spoke of in hushed voices. Yang, a banshee at her full potential.

Blake wished she had time to truly bask in that wonder.

“Are you okay?” Yang asked softly, and though her tone sounded dreamlike, there was still concern in it. Her head bobbed slowly back and forth, like she was keeping track of some rhythm Blake couldn’t hear. 

“We need to go,” Blake said, throwing a look back over her shoulder. Adam hadn’t emerged from the trees yet.

“I can’t,” Yang replied apologetically, not even seeming to notice Blake’s rush. Her eyes drifted out over the valley. Not looking at Blake, she gave a small, sheepish smile. “I didn’t mean to break my promise. But the song is so strong… it’s time to sing.”

“Not now,” Blake pleaded. “We can’t stay. It’s--”

“I can’t leave.” Yang drew in a deep breath, and her exhale came out as a brief hum. “Not now.”

“He’s _here_ , on the ridge!” Blake said, panic finding its way back in. “Adam is--”

“Adam?” Yang’s head snapped back toward Blake, her spell broken for a moment. Then, she grimaced and groaned, clutching her head in her hands.

“Yang? Are you okay?”

“The song,” she gasped, sinking to her knees. “It’s--”

“ _Blake_.”

Blake stiffened and took a protective step forward, a shield between Yang and Adam. He towered over them on the rocks, and though he looked paler than before, he looked even more furious.

“What the _fuck_ did you do?” he growled, taking a staggering step down toward them. “Did you make a deal with the devil? Is this _witchcraft_?”

“Just leave, Adam,” Blake warned, taking a shaky step closer, hoping to block his way forward. “You can walk right back down the mountain. Just leave us.”

“Just _leave_?” She could see the whites around his eyes, the madness. “After everything we’ve been through, you think I’ll just _leave_? You want me to just throw our memories away?! For _this_?”

His bloodshot stare fell on Yang, who was still on her knees. Her hood had fallen back, strands of hair catching messily on the wind. The lines of Adam’s scowl deepened.

“And this is the witch, isn’t it?” He took another step closer, and this time, he drew out his long hunting knife from his sheath. “The witch who cursed this valley?”

“No!” Blake didn’t wait; she leaped toward Adam, grabbing his forearms, trying to push him back. She wondered if she could use her magic again, to _push_ him all the way back down the mountain, but it was no use. There was no connection she could use to guide them; there was nowhere to go.

He was large enough that he overpowered her easily. Though she’d had the advantage of catching him by surprise, he recovered quickly, using his strength as leverage to push her right back. He forced her to step back, and though Blake gritted her teeth and tried to stand firm, she was no match.

He gave her a shove, and Blake almost tripped backward toward the precipice. She heard Yang’s panicked gasp over the whistling wind, and when she risked a glance back at her, she saw Yang was trying to crawl closer. She reached out a hand toward Blake, though Blake was too far away for her to reach. Then, Yang’s gaze grew distant again, and on the wind, Blake heard a hum.

Adam looked from Blake to Yang, fury growing on his face.

“ _This_ is what you left me for?” he demanded, volume rising to a yell over the wind. “This _witch_?”

His gaze turned back to Blake, and he took another couple steps forward. He was too close to slide around without risking the knife, and the ridge was so rocky and steep that one push from him could easily send her over its edge. Her heart pounded so hard that it hurt, her breathing coming out in gasps. All around them, the wind screamed, whipping up Blake’s hair in a frenzy.

She was struck by an odd sense of déjà-vu; she knew what he was going to say next.

And what he was going to do.

“You came into my life and ruined _everything_!” he snarled, raising his knife. He angled it at her. Then, he turned to Yang, still on her knees. “So now… I’ll ruin yours.”

Blake screamed, but it wasn’t with fear; it was a battle cry. She _jumped_ at Adam, her whole body lifting into the air and slamming into him. It knocked him off his feet, Blake tackling him to the ground.

The next moments were confusion as they tussled, Adam quickly finding the upper ground with his sheer body strength. He managed to get his arm behind her, and drove the knife into Blake’s shoulder. She screamed again, but by then, Yang had managed to pull herself up to her feet.

Her eyes blazed red, blonde hair billowing around her, and she _hummed_.

Even as she hummed, she grabbed Adam’s arm, the bloody knife still clutched in his fist. She twisted it, making him yelp with surprise, the knife dropping to the ground.

Still groaning in pain, Blake tried to push herself up with her good arm, watching with growing fear as Yang grappled with Adam, both of them somehow getting back to their feet even as they pushed and shoved. She could tell Yang still wasn’t at her full strength, with the way her eyes kept glancing back over the valley like it was calling to her as they got closer to the edge of the ridge.

Blake staggered forward, trying to reach them before they got too close to the edge. Adam managed to time a punch perfectly for one of Yang’s lapses in concentration; his fist slammed into her gut and she doubled over.

“Yang!” she screamed, but Adam didn’t even seem to hear her, too busy gloating over his prize.

“When I kill you,” he growled at Yang, “the town will _thank_ me, for putting an end to you. To the _witch_.”

He seized her by the shirt. Yang’s eyes flicked over to Blake, and Blake felt a sharp tug on their mental connection, reminding her it was there.

Reminding her she could use it.

Blake didn’t think. She _ran_ , using that bond between them to propel herself toward Yang. She was there in an instant, crashing herself between her and Adam. She gave Yang a shove away from the edge, getting her both out of Adam’s grip and out of immediate danger.

Pushing Yang away, though, meant that it knocked Adam off his own balance. His arms wheeled around, flailing as he tried to keep his feet.

But it wasn’t enough.

With a yell, he managed to grab a hold of Blake’s skirt as he slipped. But he couldn’t get a good hold, only succeeding in managing to yank Blake off her feet. She gasped as her torso slammed onto the ground, jarring her injured shoulder, but it was swallowed up by Adam’s bloodcurdling scream as he fell. And then there was nothing but the wind, and Blake’s quick, desperate breaths.

Her feet dangled in the air, and she felt herself begin to slide. She dug her fingers into the rock, but her palms were sweaty and gritty, and using her shoulder like this was painful. She looked up, the wind whipping up her hair around her head.

She didn’t see Yang move. She must have done what Blake did for her, using magic to launch herself toward Blake. Yang’s hands wrapped around Blake’s wrists, holding tight.

“I got you,” Yang panted, pulling her. The strain on her shoulder made Blake’s eyes water, but she still tried to help, pushing herself up with her feet. “I got you.”

When she was safe on the ledge, Blake crawled forward, already beginning to sob. She collapsed onto Yang’s lap, her good arm wrapping around her waist. Yang held her tightly, as if she was afraid she’d lose Blake right back over the edge.

“I’m… so sorry,” Blake choked out, burying her head in Yang’s chest. “I didn’t… I didn’t know I’d bring him here with me and he-- he had my key, and--”

“It’s okay, m’amhrán,” Yang said, her voice thick enough that it sounded like she was crying, too. “It’s over now.”

For a few minutes, neither of them could say anything more. Yang was shivering violently, so much that Blake couldn’t even feel if she was trembling, too. The wind continued to whistle around them, but Blake could barely feel it in Yang’s arms. 

It was over, she told herself again, finally feeling her sobs begin to slow. It _was_ over.

Blake’s shoulder continued to throb where she’d been stabbed, and now she was aware of the ache in her head and the scratches all over her body. But then Yang’s hand was on her shoulder, pressing against the wound that continued to bleed. To her surprise, the pain dissipated for a moment, the wound feeling oddly warm. Blake looked up, watching Yang’s tear-streaked face turn stony with concentration as she apparently tried to work her magic. Then, she sighed, and shook her head. Pain returned to the wound, and Blake gritted her teeth against it.

“I was-- I was hoping I could heal it with magic, or something,” she explained, hastily wiping her eye on the back of her hand. “But I think you’re still going to need stitches. I don’t-- I don’t know _how_.”

“It’s okay,” Blake said, a slight hitch to her voice. She adjusted on Yang’s lap, wincing with the pain. Every part of her ached in some way, but even then, she tried to smile. “You’re good at stitches, remember?”

“Not because I want to be,” Yang muttered, but Blake could see a weak smile on her face. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t need them again.”

“Maybe I won’t anymore. This can be the last one.”

“It better be,” Yang mumbled, though her expression was full of nothing but softness for Blake. Slowly, they got to their feet, Yang half-supporting Blake’s weight.

“How are _you_ feeling?” Blake asked, remembering now how ill Yang had been, and then the punch she’d taken.

“I’m fine,” Yang said, waving a hand dismissively. “ _I_ wasn’t stabbed.”

“But still--”

“Really.” Yang’s smile softened, and even though her face was still blotchy, she was still so beautiful. “I’m good.”

Blake hesitated, then nodded. She looked back out at the ledge, no longer as threatening as it had been when she’d been clinging to its edge. Cautiously, she slipped out from under Yang’s arm, stumbling toward it. She peered down. It was a long drop; there was no way for anyone to survive a fall like that.

It took her a minute to find Adam’s body. He’d fallen straight down, landing face-first on a ledge of rock. He looked like a broken puppet, his limbs pulled into sharp, wrong angles. Blake shuddered and looked away, back at Yang, whose face was drawn in both sympathy and understanding.

“I… never wanted something like this to happen to him,” Blake said softly. “Even after everything…”

Tears threatened to spill over again, and Blake shut her eyes against them. She’d cried enough for him. She’d moved on from him months ago, even before she left him for good. Still, a couple tears leaked out from the corners of her eyes. Yang reached out, wiping them away with her thumbs.

“I know you didn’t,” she replied, her voice just as gentle. Blake sagged against her, comforted by the way Yang’s arms wrapped around her. “Let’s get you back home. We need to stitch you up.”

“Okay,” Blake said, but then a thought struck. Her eyes widened. “Wait.”

“What?”

“Your song,” she replied slowly. She almost looked back down the ridge, to where Adam’s body lay, but she resisted the morbid urge. “You… didn’t sing. He died, but you didn’t sing.”

Yang blinked, looking confused as realization dawned. “You’re right,” she murmured. She closed her eyes, then waited a moment. She frowned, opening her eyes back up. “The song… I think it’s gone completely.”

They stared at each other for a moment, puzzled. Then, Yang sighed, shaking her head.

“I think that’s what all the uncertainty was,” she went on, her voice soft. “I _felt_ the way his death was imminent, which is why I wanted to sing. But… in the end… he just wasn’t worth the song.”

Slowly, Blake nodded, a part of her still not _quite_ understanding, but took Yang’s word for it. That’s all magic was, wasn’t it? Accepting, and embracing, the unknown. She took Yang’s hand, turning to face the open valley before them. The wind that blew no longer seemed so cold; instead, it felt refreshing, and clear, and free.

“Our song is the only one that matters,” Blake replied, giving Yang a smile. “Mo shíorghrá.”

“M’amhrán,” Yang murmured. Even when she wasn’t singing, her voice sounded so perfectly melodic on that wind. Just the way that singular word caught in the air evoked the sound of bells, of chimes, of flutes, of symphonies. It reverberated through Blake’s body, into her blood, where she could have sworn it matched perfectly with the beating of her heart.

It was the sound of their souls, the sound of their love. It was the sound of _them_.

And it sounded like a lullaby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to immediately post the epilogue. If, for some reason, you've finished this chapter and the epilogue isn't up yet... give it a few minutes, it'll be right up!


	15. Epilogue

Blake stepped onto the field, feeling cold earth on her bare feet. She could feel the blight in the soil, the way it ran in tendrils along Ilia’s fields. She didn’t even have to think about it anymore; feeling the world with her magic was becoming instinctive, as natural as walking or talking or even breathing.

And maybe now, she could use it to help others.

She wiggled her feet, digging them deeper into the dirt. It was cold, and wet, but it grounded her more, and she was able to get a better sense of the ecosystem beneath her. But despite all of its complexities, the sensation of soil between her toes had her thinking of childhood. It was a thought that made her grin.

She looked over at Yang, who stood on the edge of Ilia’s field. Seeing Blake’s smile, she returned it with one of her own, and a slightly confused lift of her eyebrow as she hunched over, pulling her socks off.

This was another vision come to life, Blake realized. She remembered, months ago, catching a glimpse of this vision of the future. A happy imagining of something that _would_ be, and now, it _was_. Her smile widened and likewise, so did Yang’s.

“Do I have to be _in_ the dirt?” she asked, though Blake could tell it wasn’t really a complaint; Yang sounded close to laughter.

“Just try it!” Blake replied, leaning over and holding out a hand. Yang couldn’t hold back her laughter this time, her otherworldly voice rippling with it as she took Blake’s hand. She stepped onto the field beside her, making a face at the cold dampness of the dirt. “Ruby said it’s better if we can _feel_ the earth," Blake added, to which Yang nodded.

Hearing her name, Ruby looked up and waved. She stood with Weiss at the other end of the field, her patchwork pants rolled up as she wriggled her feet as deep as possible into the dirt, her red cloak swaying in the light breeze. Weiss was the only one who still wore shoes, watching Ruby’s antics with bemusement.

Along the edges of the field stood a few people. Ilia, Sun, other farmers of White Fang. Some of them were still uncertain about the idea of witches or magic, but most of them were desperate enough to try just about anything to get rid of the blight. All eyes were on the four of them who stood in the dirt.

It was time to bless the land.

“It should go pretty quickly with four of us,” Ruby called out, swinging her arms as she swiveled in place, apparently relishing the earth around her feet. “But try not to rush. Take your time, and make sure you disperse _all_ of the blight-- if you leave even a little behind, it’ll just regrow, but if you’re careful, it’s not hard to get all of it. And encourage along all the good stuff in the soil to come back, too, even while we’re getting rid of the blight. Sometimes, it just needs a little reminder to come back.”

“Do you remember how we did it back at your place?” Weiss asked, looking from Blake to Yang. They both nodded; the changes to their farm weren’t as dramatic as they would be at Ilia’s, but it had been enough for them to figure out the basics. “This will be a little harder, since there’s actual disease here, but you’ll get it.”

“Sounds good,” Blake said, and Yang nodded. Ruby raised her arms, nodded, and they all began.

It was fascinating, the different ways all of their magic manifested. Ruby conducted the earth like a symphony, using her hands to gesture, to smooth the air, to demonstrate what she was doing to the blight below. Weiss stood motionless, a white symbol illuminating the ground, and a few people gasped as it swirled lazily around her. Her magic was the flashiest, and though Weiss always said she didn't like to show off, there was a small, delicate curling of her lips that showed that she _was_ enjoying the reactions.

Beside her, Yang hummed, her eyes closed as her voice controlled her magic. It thrummed around her, penetrating the earth as she worked her way around the soil. Blake could feel Yang’s magic in herself, too, in the brilliant connection that intertwined their souls.

Blake projected her own magic into the field, and then the rest of the land. The more she practiced, the more it felt like that she was always putting a piece of herself into whatever magic she made, like a part of her had seeped into the soil and was cleansing it with her own hands. It was like her shadow had sunken into the ground, emanating from her to heal, to reinforce, to nurture. She could physically feel the blight recoiling from the touch of her projection, as real as a tide might pull away from her skin.

She wasn’t sure how long it took, the four of them combining their strength to cleanse Ilia’s land. But she felt the tangles of blight unknot themselves and push away, separating out until they were nothing but strands. Together, they broke apart those strands, until they faded away completely, and there was nothing left.

Blake felt a wave of exhaustion fall over her, and her shoulders sagged. But it was _done_. The land here was as clean as the land of Cnoc na Bumbóg. It had been freed of its curse. It had been blessed.

“You okay?” Yang asked, pulling her feet out of the dirt in order to step closer to Blake. With a sigh, Blake leaned against her.

“I’m good,” Blake said, smiling, before pushing herself back up. “I just didn’t know that would be so _tiring_.”

“I feel like I could use a nap myself,” Yang agreed with a chuckle.

“And I just want some _lunch_!” Ruby hollered from the other side of the field, hopping up and darting back onto the grass with dirty feet, her red cloak fanning out behind her. Beside her, Weiss rolled her eyes and followed.

Blake and Yang went after them a bit more slowly, though they stopped long enough to exchange a few words with Ilia and a few of the other townsfolk.

There was plenty of skepticism, especially among the younger crowd. There were no visible changes to the soil, after all, and several people were inspecting the dirt as if they could find some kind of difference. But there was nothing Blake or Yang could really tell them, other than that they’d see the difference come harvest time. 

“Come on!” Ruby called, elbowing her way between Ilia and Sun. She waved a hand, beckoning Blake and Yang. “I know you’ve gotta be tired after that. It takes a while to get used to doing something so big.”

“Yeah,” Blake replied, relieved, and from the way Yang smiled, she could tell she was grateful for the respite, too. “We’ll see you tomorrow at your place, Sun!”

“All righty, then!” he said brightly, giving Blake a thumbs-up. 

“Thanks, guys!” Ilia added, giving them a wave as Blake and Yang extricated themselves from the group. Blake waved back, her heart light. Everything was coming together so seamlessly, so beautifully.

Not many people knew yet of Yang’s true nature as the banshee of Cnoc na Bumbóg, of course. Ilia and Sun had been the first people they’d told, and though they’d been surprised and a little afraid, they knew Yang well enough by then that they were able to accept the revelation. In time, they would tell the rest of the village, hopefully closing the gap between Yang’s world and the world of White Fang. 

Right now, this time of peace, and magic, and growth, would be the bridge.

“You’ll get used to this sort of magic, the more you practice,” Weiss explained as they walked through the woods. They were all touching each other lightly in order to go back to the cottage together; Blake and Yang walked arm-in-arm, with Ruby clinging to Yang’s other arm and Weiss resting a hand on Ruby’s back. “Our spell covered a lot of ground today, and you’re both still pretty new to this kind of magic.”

“But it gets easier, the more you practice,” Ruby added. “It’s like exercise! You have to get yourself into shape in order to do the harder, bigger kinds of magic.” She chuckled a little. “That’s something Raven forgot about, when her magic started getting strong again.”

They all laughed. It had been surprising, yet touching, news when Ruby had informed them that Raven had returned to Patch to reconnect with Taiyang. According to Ruby, Raven kept insisting that she’d only come to talk to him, and didn’t plan to stay long. However, Raven’s promises to leave Patch were becoming less and less believable as the weeks passed. It seemed even Raven couldn't resist the call of grá síorí.

Blake could understand this; she couldn’t imagine forcing herself to live away from Yang, the other half of herself. Maybe seeing Blake and Yang together had been just what Raven had needed to convince herself to return. Maybe she had finally realized that she'd suffered enough.

“So she’s adapting well to it, then?” Yang asked, her tone a little too neutral. Blake’s arm tightened around hers reassuringly.

“Oh, yeah!” Ruby brightened. “Aside from having to build up its strength again, she swears it’s like she never lost it. I think she feels almost whole again."

Blake felt Yang relax against her, a part of her seeming to find something hopeful in those words. It was a sign, that the deep scars that lined Yang’s family could one day truly heal.

Though they ate a hearty lunch, they couldn't rest long. It was spring, after all, and there was much to do on the farm. As they tilled and planted, they chatted among themselves, pausing every so often for Yang to explain to Blake how to do something, or for Weiss and Ruby to demonstrate how they could use their magic to encourage the plants to settle in. It was enlightening on so many levels; even in the days she’d farmed with Adam, she’d never been taught something so patiently, or had such comprehensive explanations about the details. 

_This_ was the life she’d imagined when she’d moved to White Fang the year before, she thought to herself with satisfaction. 

Well, no, maybe that was wrong. Blake smiled, her eyes meeting Yang’s across the row of peas they were planting. Yang smiled back, her expression open and warm. This life was _better_.

But Blake’s favorite time of the day was always sunset. When they wrapped up their work, putting tools away and washing the dirt off their hands, the sky was already beginning to dapple with orange and pink. Clear evenings like this were the kind Blake and Yang took for themselves, where they could watch the sunset and the stars, where they could enjoy the quiet, and the calm, and each other’s presence.

“We’ll be back in a bit!” Yang announced cheerfully, fastening her black cloak around her neck. Blake was just finishing packing them a light picnic dinner, tucking it into a basket that she slid onto the crook of her elbow.

“Take your time!” Ruby said, waving a hand dismissively. Weiss, who was making tea, looked over her shoulder at them.

“Just don’t be out _too_ late,” she chided. “You woke me up last time.”

“And I _said_ I was sorry!” Yang whined. “Are you going to hold it over my head forever?”

“Probably,” Ruby said with a snort.

“We’ll be quieter tonight,” Blake said firmly, giving Weiss a smile. “Promise.”

Weiss’s expression softened. She nodded, the corner of her mouth twitching into a half-smile. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Shaking her head with amusement, Blake automatically felt at the string around her neck, as she always did before leaving the house. She didn’t really _need_ to wear her key anymore-- Ruby and Weiss had helped weave her essence into the farm’s cloaking spell-- but it felt good, to wear something physical that represented her connection to Yang. She’d been so relieved to find the key by the ridge, where Adam had apparently dropped it; it was precious, and felt like a part of her now. She would have hated to lose it when he fell over that cliff.

“You ready?” Yang asked, offering Blake her hand.

“Always, mo shíorghrá” Blake replied. She let go of her necklace, and took Yang’s hand instead.

With Yang’s connection to the ridge, the walk through the woods never took long. The leaves hadn’t fully grown back yet, but the buds on tree branches were beginning to unfurl, and the new greenery filled the air with its rich, promising aroma. Blake took in a deep breath of it. It smelled like home.

They emerged on the ridge a few minutes later, stepping out of the trees and into the open air of the mountainside. The valley was always beautiful at sunset, its view no less awe-inspiring as it was every other time they’d come here together. Blake gripped Yang’s hand tighter as they stood there for a moment, basking in serenity.

“I’ll never get sick of it,” Yang murmured.

“Hm?” Blake looked up at her, eyebrow raised.

“Seeing the sunset with you,” Yang replied simply. Her cheeks dimpled as she grinned, and leaned down to press a kiss to Blake’s lips.

“Good,” Blake said, somewhat teasingly. “Because I think we’ll be seeing a lot of them together.”

“You can count on it.” Yang kissed her again, her body radiating enough heat to stave off the chill of the early spring wind.

As they kissed, Blake felt the familiar press of prescience. Though her future visions were still fairly unpredictable, Blake was getting better at recognizing when they were close enough to reach. As she looked into Yang’s eyes, she could feel that future beckon, like it _wanted_ to be seen. Smiling, Blake pushed through to it.

_The trees in this forest were old friends now. The bark was rough on her fingers as Blake trailed her hand around the trunk of one of them, and she smiled to herself as she took a deep breath. The days of the haunted forest were long behind her, and now she found comforting familiarity in the smells of fall: the vaguely sweet scent of rotting leaves, the spices Yang used in her cider, the clean crispness of the wind._

_This forest was her home now, and Blake couldn’t imagine being anywhere else._

_A small child darted out from between the trees, and for a confusing moment, the present-Blake thought she might’ve been looking into the past instead of the future; the little girl looked like her, with dark skin and hair, two small cat ears sticking out from the top of her head. She ducked behind the tree, giggling._

_“I see you,” Blake said patiently, stepping toward the tree the girl had disappeared behind._

_“I’m not hiding!” The girl poked her head out from behind the tree, and the shock of it nearly took present-Blake out of her vision; her eyes were a clear lilac, bright with energy._

_Those were Yang’s eyes._

_“So what are you doing?” Blake asked, amused. She heard footsteps behind her, muted by the carpet of dead leaves. Yang came up beside her, radiant as ever, her long hair hanging loose. She set a warm hand to Blake’s lower back, looking amused._

_“This is a mushroom tree,” the girl explained, spreading her arms like it was obvious. She cocked an ear. “This is where the mushrooms are.”_

_“Mushrooms don’t grow on trees,” Blake said doubtfully. The girl laughed, and oh, Blake could hear it in that laugh; this little girl was a banshee._

_“Not_ on _the tree,” she replied, using the tree to push herself back toward Blake and Yang. She had a grin on her face, a smile that looked so much like Yang’s, and up close, Blake could see the smattering of freckles. “It’s a tree that mushrooms_ like _!”_

_“Do they?” Yang asked, her voice close to breaking out in laughter. The girl nodded solemnly, reaching each hand out for Blake and Yang._

_“Uh-huh,” the girl said. She pushed all her weight against Blake and Yang’s hands, bending her knees and lifting her little legs in order to hover off the ground. “Fly me up?”_

_Blake exchanged a look with Yang, feeling her smile spread. Yang returned the smile with a wicked one of her own, her eyes glittering. Together, they lifted the little girl up by her hands and into the air, and she squealed with delight. She swung her legs back and forth, like she expected to take off into the air._

_“Fly me up to the ridge!” she laughed. “Let’s go!”_

_The girl still giggling between them, Blake and Yang carried her away, the three of them making their way toward the ridge._

“I know that look,” Yang said fondly, snapping Blake out of her vision. “What did you see, m’amhrán?”

Blake blinked, surprised to feel the sting of hot tears trying to well up. She closed her eyes, forcing them back, even though she felt awash with happiness and pure love for the woman whose hand she held.

“Something beautiful,” she replied, wondering how she could ever put a vision like that to words. But for now, the answer seemed to satisfy Yang, for she kissed Blake again, and pulled her closer.

The wind was cold on this ridge, but beside her, Yang kept her warm, as she always had. The breeze caught in Yang’s hair, brushing lightly across Blake’s face before Yang sheepishly tucked it behind her ear. Blake leaned against her, feeling the muscles in her face break into a smile. Somewhere, a bird was singing, echoing across the ridge, almost like a tiny version of Yang’s own songs. 

Peacefulness washed over them, and Yang squeezed her hand.

~

_Mo shíor ghrá is mo rún searc_

_Mo chapall dubh, táim i mo einín lách_

_Ná bí scanraíthe faoin mbean sí,_

_Ná lig don ghrá seo dul in éag_

_My love and my secret_

_My black horse, I’m a loyal bird_

_Don’t be afraid of the banshee_

_Don’t let the love fade away_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And… it’s over!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who’s left kudos, or commented, or thrown any good vibes at me! I’ve appreciated every one!
> 
> As always, GIANT thank you to [Aziminil](https://aziminil.tumblr.com/) and my sister [sunnyteea](https://sunnyteea.tumblr.com/) for the beta-reading… I’d be totally lost without y’all to bounce ideas off of and make sure my writing looks pretty! Another special shout-out to my girlfriend [Seny](https://saigamiproject.tumblr.com/) for being my constant encouragement and cheerleader! She also has shown me what real yearning and pining feels like, which I definitely used in this fic!! I love you~
> 
> Sunnyteea also gets a special credit here for letting me “borrow” her bee baby Yue for the epilogue’s cameo. If you want to see and admire her bee babies, Yue and Tara, you can see art on her tumblr page. [This artwork](https://sunnyteea.tumblr.com/post/626440715739725825/everything-will-change-but-love-remains-the-same) is one of my favorites of them! And yes… in this AU, Tara will join the family at some point, too!
> 
> Big big big thank you to everyone who’s drawn art of this fic… it’s gotten so much and I’m totally blown away. If there’s any more to add, I’ll always share on tumblr/twitter and put the links here! I may make an index of all the art and put it all in this notes section, anyway, for organization’s sake.
> 
> Finally… my next projects. My next fic is actually a secret: I’m writing a fic for the Bumbleby Big Bang, and the whole thing will drop at once in November, along with art for it by my Secret Artist Partner. So until then, I’ll probably be pretty scarce. In the meantime, if you have any prompt ideas for me, please send them to me as an Ask on tumblr! I do have at least one oneshot planned set in the Banshee universe-- I’m gonna miss this AU a lot, so if you have any other suggestions for it, I’d especially like to hear them!! Aside from my secret fic, I also have yet another bumbleby fic planned AND a rosebird fic! I’ve started writing both, though my BBB fic will be taking precedence. I hope they’re all worth the wait!
> 
> The lyrics I used at the end are from Banshee by Anna Kearney, the song that inspired this whole fic. Go listen to it on my playlist (linked below), or check it out on youtube!
> 
> If you miss me, feel free to hit me up on tumblr and twitter (linked below)!
> 
> Take care of yourselves, darlings.

**Author's Note:**

>  ~~This fic won't be as long as my others, I hope.~~ I just need to write something on the fluffier side, so indulge me.
> 
> Thank you [aziminil](https://aziminil.tumblr.com/) and [sunnyteea](https://sunnyteea.tumblr.com/) for being my betas!
> 
> Follow me:  
> Tumblr: [@pugoata](https://pugoata.tumblr.com/)  
> Twitter:[@pugoata](https://twitter.com/pugoata)  
> Playlist: [On Spotify!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7vnoDp8RatmT4dYyfWWmJJ?si=be8heuUUQLSPNc1iBUCADg)


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